Love of a Spartan
by AshleyBudrick
Summary: Rewrite of original. John-117: a battle-hardened hero of few words. At least that's how most perceive him. But even Spartans have secrets. He celebrated victories. He suffered loss. And once, he loved. Master Chief x OC
1. Chapter 1

**LOVE OF A SPARTAN**

Welcome readers - old and new. This is a rewrite of the original fanfic of the same title, posted and updated 2007-2011. In its time, the story and its sequel "After the War" became incredibly popular, seeing a rather large fan following not only on here, but on WattPad and Ao3. I decided to rewrite the story to give it a more mature and realistic outlook, as well as rely heavily on my military experience - something I didn't have when writing the original.

Content Warning: This story involves mature themes, explicit language, graphic violence, sexual content, alcohol and drug use. As the Halo franchise itself is given a M rating, this shouldn't be a surprise. However, I am aware a lot of the fan base is under 18, so I'll keep the story's rating at T. But you've been forewarned.

 **I**

 **MAY 2525 - EARTH**

An eight year old girl sat on her living room couch, thumbing through a gossip magazine that had been abandoned on the coffee table. Her brown hair had been hastily brushed into a high ponytail. An expanse of freckles littered her sun-tinged cheeks. One gold stud earring shone on her earlobe, the other lost forever after her latest excursion with her friends. Her rumpled clothes hung loosely on her lean frame, spotted with various grass and dirt stains.

Natalie Klein often rejected her mother's attempts to beautify her. She preferred a t-shirt and jeans as opposed to dresses. She asked multiple questions about the contents of her father's toolbox as opposed to wanting to try the various shades of lipstick on her mother's dresser.

Her personality could easily be described as outgoing and cheerful, only to be enhanced when paired with her contagious dimpled smile.

She was a tomboy – a trait influenced strongly by the close adoration of her two best friends, Myles and Amy. The three shared a bond that was currently five years strong and showed no signs of weakening.

Amy Smythe lived just down the street and was a few months Natalie's senior. She had bright red hair and large expressive blue eyes that suited her fiery personality. Amy always remained fearless when speaking her mind, despite the numerous times it had gotten in trouble. She often was the voice for Natalie, and on the odd occasion, Myles as well.

At the age of eleven, Myles Coddington was rambunctious and curious as any other young boy his age. He enjoyed causing harmless mischief and made sure to include his two female friends in any of his adventures – regardless of how their parents might disapprove. Despite being coined a rebel and the occasional bad influence, Myles always had the best intentions at heart and looked out for both girls no matter what.

Natalie heaved a sigh and tossed aside the magazine, bored. Her eyes flickered up to the holographic television. The base platform lazily pulsed a soft blue glow in its slumber.

"On," she commanded. The television glimmered to life, an image swirling into clear high-definition in a blur of pixels that shone like diamonds. It had been left on the local news channel.

The reporter was relaying the latest updates on the Human-Covenant War – the dominant headline that had captured everyone's attention for months now. The war had been raging since February and there wasn't a positive end in sight. The United Nations Space Command was up against an extremely powerful and intelligent alien foe that had quickly become fixated on humanity's extinction.

Presently, Earth was a safe haven. The goings-on of the war were hundreds of light-years away on the distant outer colonies. It was certainly easier to dismiss the war as nothing to worry about, but the casualties that made headlines daily forecast the morbid opposite.

" _Today, a Covenant cruiser has entered_ _the atmosphere of the colony of Kepler and launched an immediate attack. Kepler's population numbers around four million. Several thousand have already been evacuated, with their alternate destination remaining classified. The UNSCMC, together with several ships of the fleet are currently struggling to hold off the Covenant forces._ _Our sources have provided us with exclusive footage_ _taken from one marine's helmet cam during the battle just yesterday_ _. I will warn you that the footage you are about to see may be disturbing to some viewers."_

Natalie exhaled a shaky breath, feeling goose-flesh prickling her arms as the severity of the situation sank in. A part of her wanted to change the channel, but her curiosity won over as the news report cut to shaky camera footage. Gunfire crackled all around. Bright blue and green bolts of what looked to be light streaked across the screen. Dirt could be seen catapulting into the air by explosions. Suddenly, a blue armour-clad alien came into view, and Natalie startled, staring wide-eyed in horror as the creature warbled something in its guttural tongue and charged towards the camera.

It was tall, big, and ugly. As it neared, viewers could make out that it had an elongated reptilian face with four jaws lined with sharp teeth. It let out a deep, terrifying roar that seemed to echo throughout the living room. The image distorted with a bright blue flash and a loud sizzling noise before finally diminishing to a noisy static buzz.

The footage switched back to the reporter, who appeared rattled at the ending, his face pale against his dark grey suit. He cleared his throat and continued in his report, but Natalie was finished listening.

"Off." Her voice trembled, and the television silenced itself. Her heartbeat seemed loud in her ears. That marine had likely been killed, and his insinuated death broadcast to the world. A raw dose of realism plainly saying _this is what we're up against._

"Scary, ain't they?"

Natalie whipped around, stifling a gasp. Myles stood in the threshold of the living room, leaning casually against the door-frame, chewing on the remnants of an energy bar. She hadn't even heard him come in. His shaggy dark hair looked to be a mess underneath his hat, and his blue eyes shone through the dirt on his face. He had acquired a new injury, Natalie noted, by the new band-aid slapped on his arm.

He met her eyes, a small grin appearing on his lips as he surveyed her expression.

"Hah. I startled you, didn't I?"

"Make your entrance more obvious next time." Her brow furrowed.

"I didn't know you'd be watching the latest from Kepler."

"You're following it, then?"

"Of course. Aren't you?"

Natalie shrugged. It had been the first she heard of this particular battle. Her parents tried their best to keep her sheltered from the worst goings-on of the war.

"Don't let it bother you, Nat. You know, Dad says that I should fight the Covenant when I'm old enough."

"What? The war will probably be over by then!"

"I doubt it."

"How do you know?"

"The news. It's not good, as you just saw for yourself." Myles paused to cram the last of his snack into his mouth, speaking as he chewed. "We all could enlist when we get older. You, Amy and I. We could join the Marine Corps. It'd be one hell of an adventure."

"No, it wouldn't." Natalie replied flatly. The idea of fighting creatures like the one in the video was a thing of nightmares, not a future goal. She stood up from the couch, sliding her feet into her flip-flops. "I don't know about you, but I'm up for a game of gravball."

"Y'never know what the future's got in store for us."

"Well for me, it's not being a marine." Natalie felt her irritation building. "Come on, let's go get Amy."

 **TEN YEARS LATER**

 **MARCH 2535**

An M-12 Warthog sped across a dirt clearing, kicking up red dust as it headed towards a cluster of concrete buildings that had once been considered the outskirts of capital city of the UNSC colony Capricornia. Besides the roar of the vehicle's engine and the crunching of the wheels against the ground, the air was filled with sounds of distant gunfire and the buzz of overhead Banshees and Covenant drop ships.

It was a war zone. Vega, which was once a flourishing city of over two million, had now been almost completely abandoned, save for a few hundred marines and a handful of terrified civilian stragglers desperately searching for a way out of the nightmare. The latter weren't likely to last long. Many were left to wander the scorched and crumbling streets of what had once been their home, searching for help that they wouldn't find. Those unfortunates, like millions of others, would meet their deaths directly or indirectly at the hands of the Covenant.

The alien forces had found the colony of Capricornia three days ago, not long after destroying the colony of Jericho IV which hadn't even been a week before. Their fleet had been led right to Capricornia by pure accident - a set of coordinates falling into alien hands.

The invasion was huge. From the ground, at least two Covenant assault carriers were visible. They crept through the air almost lazily, making a sweep of the north end of the city. Almost constantly, blue beams of plasma flashed down from them, enveloping the city in a bright orange flame, scorching the ground and buildings as easy as tossing a match in gasoline. The sky was thick with smoke. The majority of light didn't come from the sun, but the flaming horizon.

They had already begun glassing.

Lieutenant Myles Coddington sat in the driver's seat of the Warthog. He had the pedal to the floor and the hand of the speedometer buried. The vehicle roared across the uneven ground, making occasional air, bouncing heavily on the shocks.

Coddington's gloved hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, jerking it this way and that to avoid large rocks and pits in the ground. He could feel sweat running down the back of his neck and the heaviness of his soaked hair beneath his helmet. Every once and a while he'd remove one hand from the wheel to hastily wipe trickles of sweat that were cascading down his forehead and into his eyes, not willing to take his focus from the road ahead. His expression one of concentration and disgust, eyebrows furrowed and mouth down-turned. He glanced briefly to the rear-view mirror at the Covenant ships glassing the city behind them. Anywhere he looked, the horizon was glowing with distant fire – fire that would soon envelop the entire planet.

They were fighting a losing battle, Coddington knew that much. It only added to his frustration, knowing that death was all around them and the options for the marines were limited and kept getting cut down. Static bits and pieces he heard from the comm channels over his headset contained nothing positive. The only hopes of saving Capricornia now were if UNSC forces could raid off the Covenant from the air, however, the chances of that happening were slim. Lately, the UNSC was being outnumbered in ship-to-ship battle three to one.

Coddington tore his eyes away from the rear-view mirror and glanced briefly to his side, where Private Natalie Klein sat beside him. She and Amy had joined the UNSC not long after he had. The two women had less than a year of actual field experience under their belts and were fresh to war zones. Expressions of bewilderment and horror were often seen on their faces.

Childish dreams aside, he never wanted them to join. He never wanted for them to experience this - to be so close to death. This war, the bloodshed, the stress, completed with the gap between ranks and enforced authority made their long-term friendship a faraway fantasy now.

Klein, strapped into the passenger's seat of the Warthog with her assault rifle in hand, was trying to mask the overwhelming adrenaline and fear that was plaguing her, but she knew she wore it on her face plainly as the dirt and sweat.

She and Smythe had graduated from the Academy on the same basic training course and spent their first six months of service on the Malta Space Station.

Soon, the demand for marines increased as the Covenant attacks on the colonies grew more and more severe. They were posted within weeks to the UNSC ship _Hercules_ , destined for the conflicts plaguing humanity hundreds of light-years away.

Now here they were: in the midst of a nightmare where the sun had been blinded by smoke, the horizons shone with fire and the air filled with alien ships concentrating on one thing and one thing only – planetary annihilation.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Klein made sure her chin-strap of her helmet was tight and glanced back over her shoulder to Smythe, who was manning the M41, a chain-machine gun with armour piercing rounds on a swivel turret – a powerful match against anything Covenant on the ground.

Smythe let loose a creative array of profanities, drawing their attention to the rear. Two Covenant Ghosts darted from a side street behind them, entering the clearing. They broke off and sped forward, intent on attacking. The M41 sputtered to life as Smythe aimed it at them.

"Two Ghosts, coming up pronto at five and seven o'clock!" Klein bellowed over the gunfire and the engine.

Hearing this, Coddington caught a glimpse of them in his rear-view mirror, zigzagging to avoid Smythe's fire. Manning the Ghosts, were two Covenant Elites. Good, Coddington thought, he'd be able to sprinkle off some of his anger on these two unfortunate bastards.

"Hang on," he announced, and pulled his favourite trick: jamming on the breaks and twisting the wheel. The Warthog screeched and flipped around in a split-second U-turn. At first, Smythe must've thought he was doing this to give her an easier shot, but when the LT drove his foot into the gas pedal once more, heading straight for one of the Ghosts, she shouted, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

The Elite driving the Ghost, clearly thrown off by this move, fired at them. A deadly array of searing bright blue bolts of plasma went sizzling over their heads and glanced off the windshield. Coddington and Klein, even though protected by the glass, could feel the incredible heat from the plasma. If just one of those bolts even grazed one of them, it was a possible goodbye to a limb or even a life.

As the space between the Ghost and the Warthog diminished, Coddington couldn't help but chuckle at the Elite - it thought he was going to stop. Showing the alien wrong, Coddington slammed the Warthog straight into the Covenant Ghost. There was a loud screech of metal hitting metal and with a bone-jarring impact they were all thrown forward and then yanked back into their seats by their seat belts.

Through the dusty and now-cracked windshield, she could see that their Warthog was now half on top of the Ghost, pinning the hovering vehicle tight to the ground. The frustrating groans and whirrs of the Ghost's engine were heard, followed by an irritated roar that came from the Covenant Elite manning it. Its four jaws parted to bear rows of sharp teeth as it shouted something in its guttural language as it tried to put the Ghost into reverse, but the weight of the Warthog kept it tight to the ground.

"Givin' us a generous look at the ugly fucks up close, eh sir?" Smythe remarked. The machine gun growled to life. The Ghost was just in range. In seconds its rotating barrels spat a copious amount of armour-piercing rounds in the Elite's direction. The Ghost's hull sparked as it was peppered with bullets, and the Elite's body armour proved no match against the reign of fire. It was quickly killed, letting out a mournful wail as it was finished with a bullet to the head. Spurts of thick purple blood splattered the area around it as the Elite's limp body fell from the Ghost onto the dirt with a dull thud.

Klein stared at the dead alien, momentarily perplexed. The area grew silent as Smythe stopped the machine gun fire – but this silence wasn't to last. It was seconds before they heard a far off whirr of a Covenant engine, and seconds later, the unmistakable sound of firing plasma weapons. Several bolts of plasma soared precariously close to the Warthog. Smythe had to duck, letting out a surprised gasp as a bolt whizzed over her helmet, popping and sizzling the air around her.

"Sweet Jesus Christ!" She spun the turret around to face the rear. It was the other Ghost.

Coddington cursed, jerking the stick shift into reverse. The Warthog sped back off the Ghost and he turned them to face the oncoming one. The Elite driving was far from enthused. It was shooting mercilessly in their direction, splashing the windshield and hood of the Warthog with burning plasma. It popped and sizzled, vaporising the paint. As the two vehicles veered towards each other, the Warthog gained speed, Coddington attempting to try his trick once more. However this Elite wasn't about to be as stupid as his comrade had been, having witnessing his death from afar. The Elite zigzagged the Ghost at the last second, darting around the Warthog, shooting continuously.

Coddington muttered an array of profanities, watching as the Ghost zipped out of his peripheral vision and behind the 'Hog. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw the plasma bolts from the Ghost starting to melt the titanium armour plating of the Warthog.

"Get at him, Smythe, for fuck's sake!"

"He's too close!" she shouted, spinning the turret to follow the Ghost as it whirled around them almost playfully. For a moment she thought she could hear the Elite chuckle, a mocking, humanoid response. She attempted to fire the M41, but the bullets went clean over the Elite's head. "I can't aim that low! He's too fucking close to us!"

Trying to get the Elite off their ass, Coddington began to play an irritating game of cat and mouse, the two vehicles circling and looping around the clearing in a deadly dance. Smythe tried to get in shots where she could, but this Elite was smart, keeping the Ghost close as it could.

Coddington knew that with each plasma bolt that struck the side of the Warthog, it weakened the vehicle's armour. In a desperate attempt, he pulled an emergency U-turn, jamming on the breaks and twisting the wheel, causing the Warthog lurching sickeningly to the side. He waited for the Warthog to level, but his heart jumped into his throat as he felt the vehicle tip further. As Hogs were known to do, the fucking thing was going to flip.

"Get the fuck out!" he bellowed.

Coddington tried to get out of the driver's seat. His hand fumbled for his seat belt, but gravity was against him. Unable to get it undone in time, he tumbled with the Warthog, hearing the others' screams as the Warthog crashed onto its side, stirring up clouds of dust. It went further, rolling upside down, and Coddington saw the world spin and heard crunching metal and crashing and firing plasma.

Then everything went black.

The Warthog was flipping, and Klein's hand went instantly to her seat belt. Getting it undone in a flash, she grabbed her assault rifle and jumped. She landed face first in the dirt, driving her assault rifle into her ribs, a searing pain ebbing through her chest. She felt the air leaving her lungs with one sickening rush. As she struggled to gulp a mouthful of oxygen, she heard a loud crash, and looked back over her shoulder to see the Warthog laying upside down not two feet away, the wheels still spinning. There was no sign of Smythe or Coddington. Taking a few frantic gasps and ignoring the pain in her chest, she quickly pulled herself to her feet, grabbing her weapon. She took few unsteady steps, breathing heavily, each breath causing a burning pain to sear through her. Something was seriously bruised or broken. Cracked rib, perhaps.

"Oh, fuck me sideways," she whispered, grimacing. Dread shot through her as she the Ghost buzzing around on the other side of the overturned Hog.

Suddenly the air was filled with sharp, ear-splitting cracks of gunshots, and she heard Smythe yelling. Pushing aside the aching in her chest, Klein rushed to the other side of the Warthog. She saw Smythe with her M6D pistol, trying her best to make accurate shots at the Ghost, as the Elite played with her, darting the Ghost back and forth just a few feet in front of her.

"Get this fucker away from me or I'm done!" Fear could be heard in Smythe's voice.

"Moving!"

"Covering!" Smythe bellowed, watching her friend hurry past her, heading straight for the Ghost. She noticed a slight limp in her friend's gait and her expression twisted into one of suppressed pain.

The situation was fucked. Klein locked eyes with the Elite manning the Ghost. It was observing her approach with amusement.

 _It's going to fucking shoot me dead before I can even get close,_ she realized.

Suddenly, bullets whizzed by its head and pinged off the side of the Ghost. The Elite turned, distracted by Smythe, and Klein had her move.

Letting out a barbaric scream deep down from her diagram, she used her speed to aid her as she made a frantic leap. She landed on the purple hood of the Ghost, nearly slipping off the smooth surface, but she grabbed onto the control panel with one hand to keep from sliding back. The Elite turned to look, and Klein saw the surprise in its reptilian eyes at the little human hanging off its vehicle.

Her grip was failing. She tossed her assault rifle to the ground and used both hands to hold on. Her mind was running a thousand questions, a thousand thoughts. _Now what?_ This seemed to be the most frequent one. _Now what the fuck are you going to do?_

This Elite was a clever bastard. She saw its mandibles twitch with a throaty chuckle and the Ghost accelerated. She heard Smythe screaming at her, but couldn't make out the words.

She stared into the Elite's black, glittering eyes. She'd never imagined to ever be this close to a Covenant Elite. She remembered the time she saw that footage on the news back when she was a little girl.

These Elites were much uglier in person. She could see the greyish blue of its leathery skin beneath its shining blue armour, and its yellowed sharp teeth in each of its four mandibles. It almost looked like it was grinning at her.

She snapped to, tearing her eyes away from the Elite. Her friend's screams cut into her ears.

"THE WALL!"

Klein whipped her head back to look over her shoulder, and saw the hard stone wall approaching fast. Glancing down at the lower half of her body dangling down the front of the Ghost, she put two and two together. She met the Elite's eyes in terror. She felt a chill run down her spine when she saw it throw its head back and let out a deep menacing laugh.

Quickly, Klein went through her options. If she jumped off now, it wouldn't solve the problem of this Elite. Humans on the ground didn't stand a very good match against Ghosts. And if she didn't jump, her body would be crushed and she would be killed.

The Elite was still laughing, and Klein took this as an opportunity. Letting out a strangled cry, she used every muscle in her body and pulled herself forward, just as the Ghost crashed into the wall. The impact helped her, and she surprisingly went flying right onto the Elite's lap.

The Elite hadn't been expecting this, and in seconds, Klein had her M6D pistol from the holster. Just as the alien began to roar a guttural curse of surprise and raise its fist to bring down on her, she squeezed the trigger, placing four bullets into its open maw. Its head jerked with the shots as the skull exploded out backwards, splattering warm purple blood and brain matter onto Klein's face and armour.

In shock, her mouth hanging open, Klein couldn't move, even as the Ghost's engines sighed and the machine settled to the ground. She stared at the remains of the Elite, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She heard running footsteps approaching her, and knew, without looking, it was Smythe.

"Holy shit!" was her first exclamation. For the first time, Klein tore her eyes away from the dead alien to her friend's bewildered face, knowing her own was covered with purple gore.

Klein's voice failed her. She forced her trembling legs to move and she climbed off the dead Elite's body, her chest searing with pain. She felt a surge of relief as her feet touched the ground, but took a couple of steps before dropping to her knees. All she could smell was the strange odour of Elite blood, and the air seemed thick, hot and heavy. It only took her a couple of suppressed dry heaves until she was overcome and vomited into the dirt. The retching only exaggerated the pain of her injury.

"Fuck, are you alright?" Klein felt Smythe's hand on her back. In those few weak seconds after vomiting, waiting to see if there was more to come, Klein managed a nod. She pressed her hand against her ribs, knowing the tenderness that lay beneath her armour. She felt her stomach settle, and knew there would be no more. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she nodded again for her own assurance.

"I can make it," she finally croaked out, trying to clear her mind. "Where's Myles?"

Coddington groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in the dirt, his legs up above him, somewhere by the steering wheel. So, his seat belt must've come undone after all – too late, however. Dust filled his nose and his mouth, and his eyes watered. He could feel that he had lost his helmet sometime during the accident. Other than a sore back, he was fine. He could feel all his limbs, and if he tried, could move them. The Warthog hadn't crushed him.

He looked to the passenger's side and didn't see Klein.

That's when he realized how strangely quiet it was. There were no gunshots, no plasma, no buzz of the Ghost, no voices. Nothing.

For a moment, he thought he was dead, but no, death wouldn't be the dusty, cramped confines of a flipped Warthog. He was alive, that was for certain. The only sound was his own breathing and his heart pounding in his ears. Where were Klein and Smythe? Where in the hell was that damned Ghost and the Elite driving it?

That's when he heard footsteps - running footsteps. They were distant at first, but quickly grew closer. Two sets of footsteps, familiar too – combat boots on dirt.

"Lieutenant Coddington!"

Familiar voices calling his name, laced with worry.

"Myles!"

He twisted his head to the driver's side, and saw someone's combat boots. The marine in question knelt down, and he saw Klein. Her face was covered in dirt, and strange purple smears. Was that… alien blood?

"Myles! Are you alright?"

All formalities of his rank were forgotten at this point. She raised her head. "Amy, help me get him out!" She looked back to him again."Has the Warthog landed on you?"

"No." Coddington coughed. "I'm just in a fucking awkward position. Pull me out."

He extended a gloved hand out to her. Two sets of hands grabbed his arm, and he was quickly yanked out onto the dirt. He took a deep lungful of air, feeling the claustrophobia fading away. Staring up at the sky, he watched as a Banshee streak across the strangely purple clouds, bringing him back to reality. It wasn't over yet.

"You good, sir?" Smythe inquired.

"I think so." Coddington nodded, muffling a cough again.

The privates helped him to his feet. Wiping some dirt from his fatigues, he began to survey the scene. He saw the one Ghost he had destroyed and the dead Elite lying in the dirt beside it.

"Where's the other…" he began, but then he saw the Ghost by the wall. The front of it was crushed and faint smoke was billowing from it. The engine sparked beneath the purple hood. He saw a limp body of the Elite still in the driver's seat, its head dangling limply, not much left of it. The purplish-blue blood seemed to be splattered everywhere. He didn't bother finishing his sentence, making the connection with the blood on Klein's face and the second dead Elite. He raised an eyebrow and looked to her.

"You?"

Klein nodded wordlessly.

"Well, fuck. Good job." He eyed her clutching her side. "You hurt, Klein?"

"I'll make it, sir."

"I'll take your word for it. How about you, Smythe?"

"Right as rain, sir," she nodded, but gestured to the overturned Warthog. "Our ride's not, though."

"Fuck. Let's try to flip 'er."

"Just with the three of us? I fuckin' doubt it," Smythe commented.

"It wasn't a fucking suggestion!" he snapped, striding toward the Warthog. "Come on!"

Out of the silence, a distant engine could be heard, nearing closer to them.

"Shit," Coddington said, pausing in his tracks. He jogged over to retrieve his helmet from the dirt and slapped it back on his head. "Did either of you see my fucking rifle?"

A Warthog came whipping around the corner of a half-destroyed building, much to their relief. It sped into the clearing, kicking up dust, the driver almost as reckless as Coddington, but not quite.

"What the fuck, no gunner?" Coddington noticed.

The vehicle slowed, and came to a break-screeching stop three feet from marines.

The driver wasn't a marine. When they all saw him, they took an uncontrollable step back. He wore green titanium armour with a helmet with an orange-mirrored visor. When he rose to full height when he exited the vehicle, he was easily seven feet tall.

A Spartan. The super-soldiers they'd all heard about but never seen until now.

Master Chief John-117 took a couple of long strides towards the marines. Noting one had the rank of Lieutenant, John snapped his arm up in a salute.

"Sir."

"Spartan." Coddington returned his salute, feeling rather surprised. "Good to see you. As you can see, we're in a bit of a fucking jam."

He watched as the Spartan nodded his head once, then turned to look at the overturned Hog. A moment passed where he surveyed the scene, before he approached the Warthog. Bending at the knees, he grabbed onto the frame of the vehicle. With what looked to be an effortless flick of his wrists, the Spartan flipped the 'Hog. It landed upright in the dirt with a loud crash, the frame flexing on the shocks from impact.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Coddington stared in awe.

"Did he just…" Smythe began.

"Yup, he did." Klein nodded.

John spotted the Lieutenant's rifle lying in the dirt and retrieved it. As he approached the three marines, their expressions were ones of disbelief. He handed the Lieutenant's weapon back to him.

"Much appreciated, Spartan. I see you are without a gunner. Private Klein."

"Sir," she took a step forward, her eyes locked on the Spartan. He stood still in front of them. All she could see in his visor was her own miserable reflection.

"You're now with him."

"Yes, sir." Klein climbed up onto the back of the Spartan's Warthog. She checked the ammo supply and cocked the machine gun. The movement of yanking on the cocking lever once again caused a shooting pain to web across her chest and she hissed a curse, digging out a cigarette from her pocket. It was mangled, but would work. She needed something to calm her nerves.

"Thank you again for your help, Spartan," she heard Coddington say to the Spartan. "Smythe, let's go. We'll rendezvous back at the EZ."

"That's where I'm headed, sir," John replied. "I know the safest route. You can follow along behind me."

"Fucking wonderful," Coddington grinned.

"EZ? We're leaving?" Klein spoke up, exhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke. She leaned heavily on the turret, waiting for the pain in her ribs to fade. "So this is going to be another fucking Jericho, eh?"

"Well we're not doing much fucking good down here, are we?" Coddington retorted.

"It's too late, Private," the Spartan spoke up. He turned to look at her, knowing just by the way she was standing that she was masking some kind of injury. Her hand trembled as she raised the cigarette to her mouth. He made note to inquire about it later. "The Covenant will stop at nothing until this entire planet is glassed. It's too far gone. We've done all we can here."

Klein watched as the Spartan walked over and jumped in the driver's seat of the 'Hog, and felt the shocks dip with his added weight. Coddington and Smythe were hopping into their own.

"I'll be right behind you, Spartan!" Coddington called.

The Spartan gave him a thumbs up, and started the engine with a rumble. Klein exhaled a sigh, discarding the remnants of her cigarette as the Warthog began to roll forward on the bumpy trail. She bit her lip as her ribs once again seared with pain. She glanced up at the sky to the tall skyscrapers ablaze in the distance, the dark silhouette of the assault carriers just visible.

"Fuck it all," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

It was an uneventful drive back to the EZ. Klein quickly learned that the Spartan wasn't much of a talker – he said not one word for the entire trip. She tried her best to hide the pain in her chest as the Warthog bounced over ruts and pieces of fallen concrete, but her grimaces were clearly witnessed by both of her fellow marines.

When they finally arrived, Klein gingerly stepped down from the turret, watching as Lieutenant Coddington parked his Warthog next to the Spartan's. The place was bustling with both the wounded and the able, marines of all ranks. A few civilians stuck out amongst the crowd, their clothing giving them away. Their faces looked weary and defeated.

The EZ had been set up in what once had been the city's central park. Vehicles were parked next to a man-made pond, the water littered with lily pads. Trees of various sizes were plentiful, although their leaves were already starting to wilt from the extreme heat of the city burning just a few miles away. Shrubs and carefully tended gardens had now had been trodden or driven over. Benches now accommodated exhausted or wounded soldiers. A large gazebo, likely once used to hold live musical events, was now the location of the temporary HQ. In what once had been a baseball field, sat the dozen Pelican drop ships that were the marines' ticket off the planet.

The Spartan shut off the Warthog's engines and hopped out, snapping his assault rifle to his back. His armour must be magnetized, Klein noted. He went to pass her, making a b-line for the HQ.

"Excuse me… sir," Klein wasn't sure of the Spartan's rank, but threw in the respectful 'sir' to be safe. He glanced back, and she found herself once again seeing her own reflection in his visor. How could anyone talk to him without feeling awkward? When she realized his silent stare would be the only answer she would get, she continued. "Do you need my help for anything else?"

"No. You can report back to Lieutenant Coddington now." The man's voice was deep and rather monotone. "And make a point to go to the MIR once we're back on ship. You have likely broken ribs." And with that, he continued on.

Attention to detail – Klein was impressed. Had he taken note of her grimaces in the rear-view mirror? She watched after him as he walked through the crowd, marines quickly side-stepping and giving him a wide berth. Many gawked after him. Like herself, this had likely been the first time they had ever saw a Spartan in the flesh. Rumours of their existence had circulated in the academy when she had been in training. Some people believed they weren't real at all. But here one was.

Klein felt a hand clap onto her shoulder. She glanced back, up into Lieutenant Coddington's eyes. His face looked quite serious. Wordlessly, he motioned for her to follow him. She did, taking notice that Amy followed along within hearing distance.

They stopped quite a way from the majority of the crowd beneath the shade of a rather large tree.

"Yes, sir?" she spoke.

"Drop the fucking formalities. You're hurt. You said you were fine."

"I am fine…" she started, but Myles quickly cut her off.

"I watched you for the whole drive back here. Looked like someone was jabbing a hot fucking poker in your side." He glanced down at her body. "I see no blood, which means whatever is wrong is internal."

"So fucking what? I'll go report to sick bay when we get the fuck out of here." Klein felt irritated, her cheeks reddening with irritation. "Myles." She softened her voice so no one could hear her use his first name. "If I was dying, I'd tell you about it. Stop freaking the fuck out."

He sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"You're about as graceful as a two legged horse."

"I'm not sure grace had anything to do with leaping from a flipping Warthog." Klein folded her arms on her chest. "Which occurred thanks to your wonderful driving, need I remind you, sir."

She watched a flash of anger streak across the Lieutenant's face.

"You're lucky you're on my good side, Klein."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Otherwise I wouldn't give a fuck." He turned, and started walking away. Coddington glanced to Smythe as he passed her, delivering her a sarcastic sneer. "Hear all that, gossip girl?"

"No, sir," Smythe replied as she approached Klein, putting a cigarette in her mouth. Once he had passed her, a smirk appeared onto her face.

"Let's get this shit show on the fucking road." Coddington raised his voice so all could hear within the vicinity. "Smash your cigarettes into your faces and make sure you're ready to fucking roll! I want us to be ready to pop smoke as soon as we get the order!"

"Fuck, is it just me or does he keep getting worse with each mission?" Smythe said lowly, sucking in a drag off her cigarette.

"He never liked to lose." Klein heaved a sigh. She withdrew her own pack of smokes and placed one between her lips. "But, I don't take his mood personally."

"Because you're fucking." Smythe raised a brow, watching as Klein lit her cigarette. "Worst kept secret on ship, if you ask me."

"Shut the fuck up." Klein frowned. "I don't get any special treatment. You know that. What we do after a few beer is nobody's fucking business, and it doesn't interfere with our jobs."

"He cares about you though."

"Just as he cares about everyone else in his command." Klein looked unimpressed, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. The movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through her side. She winced. "Drop it, Amy."

"You're fucking hurtin', ain't ya?"

"Yeah. I think I broke a rib or something. It's nothin' though. I get it checked out once we're back."

"Here. I got some Motrin on me." Smythe dug in her medical pouch on her tactical webbing. "Throw a couple of those down the hatch to tide you over for now. Fucking cure for everything, they say!"

As John observed the marines' progress, he knew it wouldn't be long until they would be leaving. A lot of the Pelicans were loaded with kit – all that needed to accompany them were the people. Assured that logistically, things were moving along well, he checked his ammo count on his assault rifle and slowly moved towards the perimeter, away from the hustle and the bustle. Eyes scanning the trees and the buildings beyond them, John felt uneasy.

He hated being the bearer of bad news, but there was no point in sugar-coating the current situation. This was going to be another Jericho IV. Another planet lost to the Covenant, another few million people dead.

He had contemplated the possible options for a long time on the drive back to the camp. There was the option of staying a while longer; moving from place to place like vagabonds, while the cruisers glided along behind them, glassing. Sure, they would be able to kill maybe a dozen more Covenant ground teams, but not without casualties. The smell of blood was already strong in the air as it wafted out from the field hospital filled with injured and dying marines and civilians they had picked up in their travels. The medics didn't need more to care for.

Vega was just _one_ city on this vast planet. One.

Suddenly, a red blip appeared on his HUD. Within seconds, John spotted the ugly face of a Jackal peeking out at him from the brush. Realizing it had been spotted, the alien quickly ducked back out of view.

John shot forward, reaching the alien's position in four long strides. The surprised Jackal turned to face him, its big eyes getting impossibly larger. It whipped its spindly arm around to point its beam rifle, but couldn't beat a Spartan's speed.

Sniper Jackals didn't have shields, so this thing wasn't a threat. John reached down in a blur and snatched the alien up by its bony, birdlike throat. He applied little pressure, and the thing let out a squawk, dropping its weapon.

The Jackal's life ended with a flick of John's wrist and a little squeeze. A loud snapping of bone echoed through the air, and he dropped the limp body to the ground. It made a low gurgling noise, purple blood bubbling from its bird-like mouth. It twitched once, twice, and then grew still.

He nudged it once with his foot, and then put a single burst into its head with the assault rifle, just to be sure. He had seen the Covenant put on dying spells before.

Hearing the shots Lieutenant Coddington and a handful of marines came tearing through the bushes behind him within seconds, weapons at the ready. Coddington looked up at the Spartan quizzically.

"What the fuck…" he started, but quickly spotted the dead Jackal and understood.

"Situation has been contained, Lieutenant." John stooped to pick up the dead Jackal's body. He brushed his way past Coddington and the other marines. When he emerged from the brush with the dead alien, everyone turned to stare.

John tossed the Jackal to the dirt with a low thump.

"Sniper Jackal," he announced. "They're closing in on our position. Stay alert."

Klein and Smythe were loading some ammo cans into a Pelican. They both turned to see the Spartan with the dead Jackal at his feet, displayed proudly like a cat would with a mouse.

"Fucking snipers," Smythe scoffed.

"The Spartan's pretty switched on," Klein approved. "Bet he can spot them helluva lot better than we can."

John turned to Lieutenant Coddington, who had come to stand beside him. He was staring down at the dead Jackal with a look of disgust.

"Good job, Spartan." He said finally, nodding.

"Did you receive word as to when we can expect to leave, sir?"

"Yes. ASAP." Coddington walked past John, moving towards the center of the EZ. He took a deep breath. "LISTEN UP!"

All troops came to an immediate stop.

"I have just heard from up top. All UNSC personnel present in the defensive mission of Vega and the associating cities are to pull out immediately. Now, don't you think that we're out of this yet, marines." Myles narrowed his eyes. "Up in the sky is where we are really losing this fucking war, and those Covenant bastards just love to make a game of shooting Pelicans out of the air. A word to all pilots, be extra cautious. I want zero fucking casualties. You all know the drill. Thirty personnel to the Pelicans with troop pods, ten to fifteen with those without, and don't fucking complain if you have to sit on a box of ammo for the ride, am I understood marines?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" A hundred or so voices responded in unison.

"Move it! Double time! Go, go, go!"

Everyone took off, bolting towards the Pelicans, a few scrambling to load the last of any gear. Coddington stood rooted in his spot for a few moments, watching. He was aware of the Spartan still next to him, unmoving. He gave him a sideways glance. When they didn't move, Spartans looked like statues.

"This feels wrong." Coddington spoke, more to himself than the Spartan, but he watched his armoured head jerk ever so slightly in his direction.

"It's not your choice to make, sir. We should move."

Coddington glanced up at him, into that mirrored visor. He saw his own reflection, and for the first time realized how clearly he wore the frustration on his face. The Spartan was right.

Within minutes, the last Pelican had left the EZ behind and begun their ascent to the UNSC _Hercules._ John had jumped in the nearest Pelican to him, not bothering to take a seat. He watched out the back hatch at surface below. An aerial view of the city was a depressing sight. Most of it had been scorched.

Moving up from the surface, John spotted a Banshee. It whizzed past the back door of the Pelican, appearing as a single red speck on his HUD. He heard the marines behind him stir with discomfort, having seen it as well. Just as quickly as it had come, however, it disappeared.

Then, John's HUD lit up with a large, red flashing dot.

It wasn't the Banshee.

Several searing purple beams came tearing down through the air, some striking the side of the Pelican. The aircraft shook violently, the shots pushing it off course. The marines erupted into frantic curses and yells. John felt dread sweep through him as he spotted the culprit.

A Covenant drop ship.

The Spirit was coming in fast. It fired again. The plasma struck the Pelican, melting the steel and causing the temperature of the passenger compartment to soar. Everyone was suddenly panicking.

"I've lost the engines!" John heard the pilot screaming. "They won't respond, I repeat, they won't respond…"

An explosion enveloped the cockpit. The fire ball sped outward, the marines screaming as they were engulfed in it.

John jumped.

He flew through the air, aimed towards the Pelican that had been following his own. Behind him, John heard a second explosion as the Pelican burst into flames and spiralled towards the ground.

The Spartan braced for impact, and crashed down onto the top of the second Pelican. Along with him, pieces of scorched metal and flesh landed as well. John felt his stomach flip. _Focus_. He flattened his body against the Pelican and began inching his way back to the hatch.

He reached the edge and let himself drop, only to catch himself in the last second. He felt the Pelican momentarily dip with his weight. Everyone within had turned to look at the Spartan dangling down into the hatch with surprise.

"What the fuck?" Seemed to be the most common remark to his unexpected arrival.

John leapt into the passenger's compartment with one easy movement. He landed gracefully onto the deck.

"Welcome aboard, sir," the pilot greeted him, his voice grim. He would have gotten a front-row seat watching the devastation of the other Pelican.

John felt all eyes on him as he rose to full height. He noted Lieutenant Coddington, as well as Privates Klein and Smythe were on board. Coddington's face was pale with anger.

"The fucking bastards!" A slight waiver could be heard in his voice. "They…"

"They're coming back!" Smythe screamed. "At us!"

She was right.

John thought fast. He turned, staring at the ammo boxes in front of him, his eyes searching for the right label. Finally, he spotted it. The rocket launcher. He had it out of the box in seconds, and could tell just by the weight it was loaded.

"You can't fire that in here, are you fucking crazy!?" Coddington got to his feet, staring at him in disbelief. "The back blast will kill us all!"

"I've got this, sir." John snapped the rocket launcher onto his back with a metallic clunk. And with that, he jumped out, grabbing onto the end of the Pelican's hatch at the last moment. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Spirit's plasma cannon firing up a deadly charge of plasma.

He flipped up onto the top of the Pelican and whipped the rocket launcher off his back and into firing position. John held his breath as he took aim – directly at the plasma cannon.

 _WHOOSH._ The rocket exploded outward, making a straight line towards its target. The plasma cannon disappeared in an orange flame. Seconds later, the remains of the smoldering weapon plummeted towards the ground.

From below, John heard the marines cheer.

Now defenseless, the Spirit quickly veered off back in the direction from which it had come. Above them, John could see the Halcyon-class cruiser _Hercules_ awaiting their arrival.

John placed the rocket launcher onto his back and swung down again into the open hatch. Immediately, he was adorned with praises.

"Atta boy, Spartan!"

"That fucking quick thinking, sir."

"You guys _are_ fucking badass!"

"We'll arrive at the _Hercules_ momentarily," John told them.

"Thank fuck."

"Praise the mother-fuckin' Lord!"

"I need a fucking change o' pants after that one."

An eruption of laughter.

"He's fucking right on!" Smythe remarked to Klein, grinning. Her friend nodded in agreement.

Klein met Myles' eyes from across the compartment; his usual crooked smile was nowhere to be seen. His jaw was set, brow furrowed. His complexion looked rather pale, glimmering with sweat.

"Don't look so grim," she told him.

"Shut your fucking mouth. Those marines that were just killed in that Pelican were _my_ men. _My_ fucking responsibility!"

Close enough to the response she expected. She heaved a sigh, removing her helmet. Her hair stuck to her scalp, and beads of perspiration rolled down her face.

"But it's not your fault," she kept her voice calm. "It just as easily could have been us."

"She _is_ right Lieutenant." Klein felt surprised to hear the Spartan speak up. He was standing near the hatch, leaning back against the bulkhead. "You will drive yourself insane taking the blame."

"I'm already fucking insane!" Coddington snapped.

Natalie looked into the Spartan's mirrored visor, giving him a sympathetic shrug.

"You tried." She mouthed, nodding.

John folded his arms on his chest, half-listening to the marines' chatter as he scanned the sky for any signs of more incoming drop ships. It would be nice if they could make it to the _Hercules_ without another interruption.

He somewhat envied the marines. They would relax in limbo until the next call for the _Hercules'_ aid, but as soon as he reported in, the Captain and Dr. Catherine Halsey would probably have another mission for him. He'd find out soon enough.

* * *

Just as John had predicted, he was summoned to the bridge immediately upon his arrival to the _Hercules_.

The Captain, Blake Thomsen, and Dr. Catherine Halsey were there to greet him. He snapped to attention and delivered the required salute.

"Captain; Ma'am," John acknowledged them individually.

Thomsen looked grim. Although just in his late forties, the Captain of the _Hercules_ appeared to be about ten years older. He was a taller man, with remnants of a physique that had once been impressive in its day. He had serious features: a large curved nose, deep-set eyes and a sharp chin. John had heard the marines refer to him as "the Hawk". His hair was speckled with grey; wrinkles adorned his forehead, the corners of his eyes, and mouth. His eyes looked always tired.

Dr. Halsey also looked withered, John noted. Her brown hair cascaded loosely down her shoulders. She like hadn't the time to style it. Dark bags were visible beneath her eyes; her thin face lacked any prominent colour.

"Hello John," the Doctor said with a breath, sounding exhausted. She managed a familiar smile. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise ma'am. How are you feeling?"

"Tired, incredibly tired." She sighed. "I've been monitoring the Covenant activity around Capricornia for days. That and I've been trying to keep track of your fellow Spartans' progress. I'm running on caffeine at the moment." She raised the mug in her hand with a brief smirk. It quickly faded. "It's so unfortunate we have lost."

"It's a fucking nightmare," Thomsen said, folding his arms behind his back and clenching his jaw. "Capricornia and Hera make the Covenant's toll up to three just this week. Hera was confirmed glassed early this morning. Several thousand were killed, at least two of our destroyers lost. Two of your Spartans were evacuated just in time."

"Kelly and James," Dr. Halsey confirmed.

A few seconds of silence ticked by.

"If you have nothing particular to report, 117, you are free to go," Thomsen finally spoke.

Behind his visor, John's brow furrowed.

"Forgive me for asking, sir, but I am not to be immediately deployed elsewhere?"

"No." Thomsen glanced back at him. "You'll be informed if and when that occurs. For now, feel free to relax. Report to accommodations and you will be given your room code and ration card. Your kit has already been taken there for you."

Relax. That was an odd word for John to hear.

"Understood, sir." He saluted. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm here if you need anything, John." Halsey added, watching as John left the bridge. He glanced back over his shoulder at her, giving her a silent nod.

"He seemed thrown off by my orders." Thomsen looked to Halsey curiously.

"My Spartans aren't exactly used to downtime, Captain."

"Huh." He chuckled. "I suppose they aren't."'

Halsey rose from her chair, her heels clicking on the floor plates as she came to stand next to Thomsen, who gazed out the window of the bridge at the surface of Capricornia. The once-blue planet had now grown golden in colour, swarming with Covenant ships. Its surface was on fire, flashing gold and white with the surges of plasma from the cruisers. It almost seemed to glow against the black backdrop of space.

Another planet had been lost forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

The _Hercules_ entered Slipspace shortly after John left the bridge. He quickly went to the armoury and with the help of two technicians, got out of his MJOLNIR armour and into the standard uniform, comprised of grey fatigues and combat boots.

Clothes felt strange to wear. The gel-layer of his MJOLNIR armour moulded perfectly to fit his body, providing a comfort unlike anything else. John also noticed a noticeable decline in his reflexes. Indeed, alone they were faster than that of the average human, but his armour only heightened them.

Certain anonymity was gained with wearing the fatigues, however. John received less curious looks. MJLONIR armour was a dead giveaway: Spartan. Without it, people could only guess, and usually they were too intimidated to ask.

Standing at six feet, ten inches, John's irregular height alone turned heads. His physique added to it. He was in perfect shape - 240lbs of solid muscle. He also had a collection of various scars, many of them from the original Spartan augmentation process. While only a few were visible while in uniform, scars of any kind were interpreted as bad-ass by the marines – a symbol of experience and strength.

Last but not least, it was John's face that added to the recipe of do-not-fuck-with: he was a master of his expressions, and they were very limited. He had a strong, square face with heavy eyebrows, deep-set eyes, straight nose, a firm mouth and a prominent jawline. All those features, even when resting comfortably, didn't appear too friendly. Rather, they were quite stern, and not very approachable.

But John liked it that way.

He reported to accommodations as Thomsen had directed, and quickly received his ration card and room code. The hallways of the _Hercules_ were still rather barren – the majority of the marines likely found themselves in sick bay, the armoury cleaning weapons, or the showers, ridding themselves of two days' worth of sweat and grime.

John located his room and felt relieved to learn he had private quarters. The benefits of a Master Chief Petty Officer, he guessed. His few belongings, a kit bag and garment bag containing his dress uniform, had been already placed in the singular locker. Aside from that, the room consisted of a bed, bedside table, mirror, chair and writing desk. Simple, yet greatly appreciated.

Relaxation would be a nice change from the last couple of days, for however long it lasted.

* * *

Klein had shuffled tiredly to the armoury with the rest of her squad to clean weapons and turn in unused ammo. She was waiting in line to fetch some rags when her rifle was snatched from her hand and thrust promptly into Smythe's.

Lieutenant Coddington, of course.

"Private Smythe will take care of your weapon. You go to the fucking sick bay like I ordered you." He glowered down at her.

Behind her, Klein heard Smythe heave a sigh at the double duty, but she didn't protest.

"Yes, sir," Klein grumbled irritably, stepping out of line and brushing past him. Her injury surely wouldn't worsen in the time it would take to disassemble her rifle and give it a wipe down, but she knew better than to tread on Coddington's toes. He was always extra touchy following a mission.

"Report back to me once you return, Klein."

She knew what _that_ meant. She raised her right hand in a thumbs-up as she exited the armoury, knowing he would see it.

After waiting a good hour and a half in sick bay, Klein was finally examined. Two broken ribs. As the Spartan had accurately guessed, she mused. Biofoam was applied to the area and it was tightly wrapped in bandages to provide stability. The bones would fully heal in a week, and she'd be on light duties until then. Lastly, a prescription of extra strength Motrin was slapped into her palm and out she went.

Helmet slung under one arm, she glanced over her chit. Conveniently enough, she had to provide it to her commanding officer, who happened to be none other than Myles Coddington. His quarters were where she was headed.

Eyes on the paper, she ran right into the shoulder of a passing marine.

"Fuck! I'm sorry!" She stepped back and had to crane her neck to meet the eyes of the huge man she had just run into. She stood just over five feet, and barely came up to the man's chest. He had dark hair and a serious face. For a moment, his expression made her fear a pending jacking, but almost robotically, the features softened.

"Don't worry about it." That voice. It sounded familiar. "Medical chit?" His brown eyes went to the paper in her hand.

"Yeah," she shrugged. She glanced at his rank. Master Chief Petty Officer. In the same glance, she noticed he had no nametag, just the Velcro strip where they were attached. Odd. Maybe he had forgotten to attach it, but she wasn't about to start pointing out uniform deficiencies with MCPOs. "Seven days light duties, sir. Got a couple of broken ribs."

"Be sure to rest then." Hearing his voice again, Klein realized that this had to be the Spartan. The higher rank made sense. His size certainly did. She recalled how the Spartan had towered over everyone at a height of nearly 7 feet.

Before she could open her mouth to inquire, he had continued past her on his way. Furrowing her brows, she watched him round the corner, his footsteps barely audible. It had to have been the Spartan. She had always been quick to recognize voices. It had been the same deep and monotone voice.

If it had been him, she had cleared up the mystery of what existed beneath the armour. A human being – not AIs as some people thought. A very powerful human being, by the looks of things. They weren't deformed, as others speculated. She had briefly noted a few scars visible on his face and neck, but aside from that, the Spartan looked rather normal. Attractive, even. She smirked to herself.

She had arrived at Coddington's room, and slapped the button to open the door. It hissed open, and Myles was inside, digging in his locker, wearing just his fatigue pants and dog tags. His short hair glistened, the room smelled of cologne. A damp towel hanging on the foot of the bed confirmed that he had just come from the showers.

He glanced back over his shoulder at her as the doors hissed shut. Raising a brow, he looked her up and down. She let out a sigh and held the chit out to him.

"Seven days light duties?" He plucked the paper out of her hand. "What did I do to you?"

"Broke two of my ribs." She sat gingerly in the chair next to the desk. "Thank you for that."

He smirked.

"You're a jarhead. You can take a good pounding."

"Hah." Sarcasm laced her voice. "What're you up to?"

"Gotta go to a fucking debrief, actually." Myles pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head, tucking it into his pants. "So my apologies, I don't have time to fuck anything better."

"Don't worry, I've got Motrin." She grinned, slapping her pants pocket. The pills rattled in their case.

"Which you'll take and then go rest?" Myles raised a brow as he shrugged into his tunic, quickly buttoning it.

"Maybe. You know me."

"Yes, I do. Don't make me confine you to your bunk."

"That sounds exciting," she quipped, grinning as she got to her feet.

"Out." Myles gestured towards the door. "I'm leaving and locking the door behind me. Don't make me fucking late."

"Yes, sir." She left the room first, Myles following. The door beeped as he locked it. He turned, meeting her eyes.

"If you're good, I might ask you back later."

"I'm never good."

Myles simply scoffed and went on his way down the hall. Klein heaved a sigh, glancing him up and down before he disappeared around the corner. Their relationship was a complicated one. Almost fifteen years of friendship distorted upon their mutual enlistment in the UNSC. Ranks, rules and stress divided them, and in the same breath, their mutual desire to escape those things brought them together.

Their sexual encounters weren't romantic. They were fuelled by mutual frustrations and stress, whether it was towards each other or the hell of a world they found themselves in. It was also a never-ending struggle for dominance, as neither ever wanted to back down. But, when they found themselves lying together afterwards, spent, each breath they exhaled felt like bliss. The stress slipped away, the worries became a background fog. Each were the other's cure, and they sought each other out at times just as frantically as drug addicts would search for their next fix.

Klein had slowly begun to loathe their encounters as much as she enjoyed them. She hated that she relied on Coddington for anything, let alone in achieving sexual pleasure, but loved that he was so dependent on her, that he needed her and wanted her. It felt good to be wanted, even in the most animalistic sense.

Klein went back to her room, which she shared with Smythe. The room consisted of two beds, lockers, desks and chairs. It was rather cramped, but as the two knew each other so well, it felt comfortable.

"You're back," Amy greeted her as she came in, anxiously watching her friend's expression as she tossed her helmet onto her bed. "And a tad grumpy?"

"I'm not ecstatic, if that's what you were expecting," Natalie murmured. She unzipped her tactical vest, shrugging it off gingerly. She then rid herself of her armoured vest, ripping apart the Velcro, her face a painful grimace. Once those two pieces of kit lay on the floor, she dropped back onto her bed, the springs squeaking under her weight. She sighed. "Fuck."

"You look fucking exhausted." Amy was dressed in her PT gear: grey shorts, grey t-shirt and a hooded sweater. She had the hood pulled up to cover her tangle of red hair. Under the fluorescent lighting, she looked particularly tired herself with purplish bags under her eyes.

"Well I'll have plenty of time to rest. I'm on light duties for the next week. My ribs are broken."

"Shit!" Amy looked genuinely shocked. "Your first kinda-serious battle wounds. More of a fucking veteran than I am now."

"I could hardly call them battle wounds." Natalie raised a brow. She began unlacing her boots. "It's all thanks to a certain Lieutenant with a heavy foot."

"The fucker. They should make him do a retest on his quals for the 'Hog. A part of being a good driver for one of those things is that you don't fucking maul the people you have in it," Amy let out a little laugh. "I'm a little bruised up and stiff from today, but no cause to go to sick bay."

"Any word on how many we lost today?" Natalie threw her boots aside, and began peeling off her socks, exposing her feet to fresh air for the first time in two days. It was a wondrous feeling.

"Not sure the final count. There were those in the Pelican, plus however many we lost in the skirmishes. My guess would be about a hundred or so," Amy shrugged, frowning. "It's fucking demoralizing just thinking about it."

"Yeah. My morale hasn't been that high since Jericho, anyway."

"I never got to ask you – how was it being the gunner for a Spartan?" Amy grinned, watching as her friend dug a can of chewing tobacco out of her pants pocket.

"Drives helluva lot better than fucking Myles does," Natalie smirked. She packed the can of tobacco, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and giving it a few sharp flicks with her wrist. _Thwack, thwack, thwack._ It was a satisfying sound. "Although I think that's not hard to do." She cracked open the top and plucked out a decent sized clump of tobacco, cramming it into her lower lip. "Pass me that." She gestured to the empty water bottle lying by Amy's kit.

"That's such a fucking gross habit, Nat," Amy remarked, although she did as she was told. She watched as Natalie unscrewed the cap and spit a large brown glob into the bottle. Afterward, she leaned back against the wall against her bed, letting out a large, satisfying sigh.

"It's fucking delicious. Anyway, the Spartan. I'm pretty sure I spoke to him in the hall when I was coming back from the sick bay."

"Pretty sure?" Amy raised a brow. "He's fucking seven feet tall and wears green armour. Not too many guys of that description floating around."

"Out of his armour, I mean. I think I've discovered the face behind that mirrored visor."

"Oh?" Amy looked intrigued. "What makes you think it was him?"

"His build, for one. We're talking a tall Arnold Schwarzenegger-looking motherfucker. Easily cleared six feet and had biceps on him wider than my head is round. Jacked. Never seen a marine look like that ever. And from what little I could see, he's got scars. A lot of 'em."

"Could've just been some crusty ol' Helljumper."

"Didn't have the Helljumper insignia!" Natalie paused to spit. "And I recognized his voice from earlier. I'm positive it was him."

"What was his rank?"

"MCPO."

"Fuck. Wait a second. What the fuck are you doing chatting up Master Chiefs in the hall?"

"I ran into him by accident."

Amy let out a roar of laughter.

"Well ain't that a fucking Private Klein classic right there."

Natalie couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, well. Pretty sure he recognized me 'cause he asked about my chit. He predicted on Capricornia that I had broken ribs. Was practically the only thing he said to me for the whole Warthog ride. He seems nice enough, though."

"Look at you, befriending Spartans and shit. What the fuck. What is his name?"

"I don't know. He didn't have a nametag on his tunic."

"The mysterious Spartan. Wonder if you'll see him again."

"I'll point him out if you're with me, although you'll probably figure it out as quickly as I did. I'm not lying when I say this guy sticks out from the crowd."

"Is he good looking? How old would you guess he'd be?"

"Our age, maybe. Early twenties. Got an intimidating expression, but yeah, he'd pass as fuckable."

"Jesus Christ!" Amy let out a howl of laughter. "You're killing me. What a fucking thing to say!"

"What? It's a good way to describe him. If he was some random in a bar, I'd take him home." Natalie shrugged. "Got a nice face. The body's impressive too. Very rarely do you find someone who's got both."

"Amen to that."

* * *

The Captain's debrief was a short affair, consisting of the higher ranking officers and senior NCOs who maintained important positions of authority. All the chairs around the large round table in the meeting room had been filled.

John had taken the next to Dr. Halsey, sitting rigid in his chair. The Doctor was the only civilian to attend, permitted only due to her involvement with the Spartan program. She appeared a bit perkier than she had been earlier, with yet another fresh cup of coffee sat in front of her.

Lieutenant Coddington was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The smell of the civilian doctor's coffee made him crave some. He wasn't sure what his body wanted more: caffeine, nicotine, sex, or sleep.

He fixated his gaze on Dr. Halsey. Her presence was still a mystery to him – he had no idea why she was here at this debrief, but figured she must have some important position. Head of the sick bay, perhaps. She appeared rather refined and had a strong air of intelligence about her. Beneath her lab coat, her thin frame had been draped in a grey business dress, and she wore black high heels that echoed loudly when she walked. Should be a damn crime to let a woman dress like that on ship, he thought miserably. While he had his source for getting his jollies, he knew there must be at least half a dozen other officers at the table who must have wondered what she'd look like bent over an examination table.

Coddington bit back a smirk at this thought, and tore his gaze away from her. _Fuck_. Maybe sex took priority over a coffee, some chew or a good eight hour's rest, after all. Instead, Coddington focused on the large man seated to her right. Another unfamiliar face. Coddington studied his rank. Master Chief Petty Officer. They certainly weren't common.

The Master Chief looked like he was sitting on a chair of nails – rigid, unmoving. His facial expression appeared completely neutral, his mouth a thin line, eyes downcast to the table as he listened.

Coddington took note of a few scars on the man's face and neck. A particularly large pink scar lined his cheekbone under his left eye. On his head, patches of hair were forever gone from scars that crisscrossed his scalp.

 _ODST?_ Myles wondered. Those guys were hard as fuck. Banged up, bitter, usually slightly afflicted with PTSD – not the most sociable creatures alive. They spent most of their down time at the gym. _That could explain this guy's shape_ \- _I bet he could bench 350 easy_.

"Do you have anything important that you would like to add, 117?" Captain Thomsen spoke up.

 _117? Who the fuck gets called by a number?_

The Master Chief across from him seemed to sit impossibly straighter, his eyes shooting up from the table to meet the eyes of the Captain.

"No, sir."

That explained that. Myles leaned back in his seat, folding his arms on his chest. A small smile appeared to his face. He half-listened as the Captain concluded the debrief, watching the Master Chief drop his gaze back to the table. _The fucking Spartan! Of course!_

There was an ensemble of the scraping of chairs on the floor as all stood. The Captain left first, the man nearest the door shouted: "Room!" and everyone snapped to attention. Once he had crossed the threshold, the room relaxed. Soft murmurs of conversation bubbled up as everyone all filed for the door.

Myles looked to the Spartan, watching as he said something to Dr. Halsey. She smiled warmly, nodding. Finally, before leaving, she reached out and gave him a pat on the arm before brushing past him to the nearest exit.

 _Huh, very peculiar._

"Master Chief!" Coddington spoke up.

Instantly, the Spartan's eyes locked on him. He had a very direct gaze, which almost instantly made the Lieutenant uncomfortable. His eyes were a dark brown, deep set so that they appeared almost black. Soulless, even. Maybe that's why they had the Spartans wear mirrored visors on their helmets, he mused.

"Sir?"

"I almost didn't recognize you." A stupid thing to say, but fuck it. "How are you doing? Blending in well to ship life? I don't recall you staying with us before."

His words seemed to almost overwhelm the Spartan – he watched a brief expression of discomfort flash across his face.

"No, sir. Well yes, sir. Adjusting well."

"Glad to hear."He smiled slightly. "I'll likely see you around... sorry… I didn't catch your surname…" It was never said, but surely this giant had a name aside from a number and a rank.

"117, sir. Spartan 117."

 _How fucking absurd._

"117." He tested it out, giving a nod. "Alright. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Same to you, sir."

Oh, he would. He planned on going back to fetch Klein. He'd fuck her, perhaps treat himself to a decent-sized lipper of tobacco, then crash.

As he left the meeting room, he mulled over just how awkward that conversation had been. It seemed that Spartans didn't function very well outside of the battle field. Except perhaps with Dr. Halsey, he noted, remembering that brief flash of friendliness that they shared. They were close, that's for sure – but in what way, he had yet to discover.

However, given how difficult it had been to exchange simple pleasantries with Spartan 117, Coddington hoped that they wouldn't have to cross paths again anytime soon. At least one of the many rumours he had heard about Spartans were quite true, indeed: they were a strange, strange breed.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

The next morning, John found himself facing his first full day of relaxation aboard the _Hercules_. He had a sound, comfortable sleep and awoke promptly at 0500. He quickly grabbed a fresh uniform and his bag of ablutions, intending to have a quick morning shower before heading to the mess for breakfast.

He exited his room, wearing his PT shirt, shorts and shower sandals, his clothes and ablutions tucked under his arm. The hall was empty and deathly quiet. As John quickly learned early on, this section of the ship consisted just of private quarters issued to higher ranking personnel such as himself. Apparently this morning they all valued the luxury of sleeping in.

At the end of the hall, however, John heard the hissing of a door as it opened, and he paused. A short female stepped out, her brown hair mussed. She wore civilian sweatpants, a tank top and flip-flops. Not noticing him yet, he watched as she paused to do a bit of quick self-grooming. She furiously swept her shoulder-length brown hair up into a ponytail and tied it with a hairband kept on her wrist.

Then, she glanced down the hall, paranoia flashing across her features. Their eyes locked and she froze, her colour quickly draining from her face. Out of all the people to run into this morning… it had to be the Spartan.

John instantly recognized her – Private Klein. Last time he checked, privates weren't entitled to their own rooms.

"Good morning, sir," she said, keeping her voice quiet.

He approached her, narrowing his eyes.

"Morning, Private Klein." He stopped within a foot of her. "How is your injury?"

She glanced down at herself self-consciously. She looked like shit.

"Good. Thank you for asking, sir."

She watched as the Spartan looked to the door from which she had just come. It read _LT Coddington._

Natalie's heart pounded like a drum in her chest as she watched the Spartan put two and two together. She let out a silent exhale, and clamped her eyes shut, awaiting the fallout. She should have fucking left the room last night like she had originally intended…

She heard footsteps, and when she opened her eyes, she saw the Spartan continuing on down the hall without a word. What the fuck? She felt baffled. That was it? He wasn't going to say anything? Maybe he wasn't the confrontational type. Perhaps he would simply in inform the chain of command later, casually after breakfast – have her disciplined or charged. Perhaps Myles, too.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she whispered under her breath. She quickly hurried down the hall, eager to get back to her own room before anyone else could suspect anything.

She burst into her room, flicking on the lights. Amy, who was sprawled out on her bed wearing nothing but a tank top and underwear, instantly stirred, grabbing the pillow and pulling it over her eyes.

"Fuck off with the lights!" she muttered ferociously.

"Wake up. I'm fucked. I'm totally fucked!" Natalie heard her voice wavering as she spoke. She swiped up the can of chewing tobacco and spit bottle and threw herself down onto her own bed.

Amy peeked out from under her pillow at the bedside clock.

"You fucking bitch. It's 0500." She blinked sleepily at her friend, raising a brow as she saw her going for the nicotine. "You haven't even eaten yet, you savage. Control yourself. It makes you look pathetic."

Natalie paused, but threw down the can onto her mattress, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Fuck."

"You're pregnant." Amy's first prediction.

"No!" Natalie looked disgusted. "Jesus!"

"Well it better be fucking something life-changing to warrant waking me up this fucking early," Amy spat viciously. She sighed heavily, sitting up, throwing aside the blankets, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.

"I just got caught coming out of Myles' room."

"I fucking told you not to ever stay all night, you idiot. Who saw you?"

"The Spartan! And he didn't say anything. He said good morning and asked how I was doing, then continued on his way."

"So… what?" Amy asked, raising a brow. "How are you fucked? He obviously didn't care."

"I don't know that! What if he tells the chain of command? Myles and I could both be charged…"

"Look. As I said before, the fact that you and Myles are fucking is a terribly kept secret. Almost everyone knows. If there hasn't been anything done about it so far, there won't be now. I think even the Old Man understands that if you put a bunch of marines on a ship together for months on end, people are going to start getting tired of using their hands to do the job and search for some company, hm? If I didn't have Wayne back home, I'd have already been all over someone. You and Myles aren't the only people who are fucking. Your difference in rank is really the only thing that could catch some flak, even then, I really don't think anyone gives a fuck as long as it doesn't affect how you do your job."  
"Thank you for your rational mind." She heaved a sigh. "I'll try not to worry."

"Good. Now let me go back to sleep. Wake me up in a couple hours for some grub."

* * *

John went to the mess after having his shower, where he had mulled over the situation earlier when he had run into Private Klein in the hall. She had come out of Lieutenant Coddington's room, something he thought odd, but at the same time, hadn't been confident enough to question. He was aware that marines had relationships with one another. It was rather common, if one paid enough attention, to catch the little signs here and there. None could be more obvious than to be seen leaving a Lieutenant's room in the early hours of the morning, however.

Private Klein could be considered an attractive female. She had large, expressive eyes, a heart-shaped face, a slightly upturned nose and full lips. Her smile was genuine, and her cheeks always dimpled. Her figure was fit and lean, with soft feminine curves.

John couldn't help but notice her features when he had seen her in something other than her bulky battle gear and uniform. Out of uniform, at first glance, one might not even think she was a marine. He had no trouble understanding why Lieutenant Coddington was interested in her.

* * *

In the mess hall, Natalie and Amy had found a spot at one of the back tables. The place was bustling, and smelled strongly of coffee, toast and bacon grease. After being on rations for the past two days, everyone rejoiced in having hot food, even if the eggs were powdered and the bread a bit stale.

Amy was sipping from her second mug of coffee, sleepiness still present on her features. She had thrown on her PT sweats and had her hood pulled up to cover her mess of red hair.

Natalie had tried to not let the incident bother her from earlier that morning. After showering, she had changed into her grey fatigues and pulled her hair back into a neat pony tail and made her way to the mess, trying to forget the dishevelled way the Spartan had seen her not a couple hours prior.

Myles had come to breakfast around the same time she and Amy arrived. He had simply given her a nod from across the room and went to sit at the table with the rest of the officers. She wondered if she should tell him that she had been spotted. Knowing his temper, she guessed it probably wouldn't be the best idea.

"Oh look. Check your six." Natalie whispered lowly to Amy, gesturing behind her friend's back with her fork.

Amy swivelled to stare, nearly sloshing her coffee over the edge of the mug. The Spartan towered clearly above everyone else in the steam line, tray in hand, a blank expression on his face.

"Well fuck, you're right. That's gotta be him." Amy turned back around, raising a brow. "You weren't exaggerating when you were talking about his build. Christ, wouldn't wanna piss him off."

"Hmm." Natalie nodded, keeping her eyes on him, watching as the cooks handed him a heaping plate of eggs and bacon. He accepted his plate and turned in their direction. His eyes met hers. Instantly, she averted her gaze, picking up her mug of coffee and raising it to her lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, a tray was set down in the empty spot next to Amy. Natalie slowly raised her eyes and saw it was the Spartan. For a moment, in her morning haze, Amy didn't even clue someone had sat down next to her.

"Oh, hello again, sir," Natalie spoke, smiling politely.

Amy's head turned in a blur, and she stared at the large man sitting next to her, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Sir," she finally said, sounding confused.

"Busy in here this morning," John remarked, meeting Natalie's eyes. He noticed an immediate change in the Private's demeanour as soon as he sat down. "I hope you weren't saving this seat for someone else."

"Oh no," Amy spoke up, shrugging. "It's yours." She briefly met Natalie's eyes across the table, mouthing _what the fuck_.

Natalie watched as John began eating, and once his eyes were on his food, she shrugged discreetly, appearing as confused as her friend. Amy glanced around, taking note that more people were shooting glances their way, undoubtedly at the Spartan seated next to her.

Across the room, Natalie caught Myles' gaze. He raised a brow curiously. She quickly delivered the same stealthy shrug, and it seemed to satisfy him.

"So, how are you adjusting to the more relaxing routine, sir?" Amy started a conversation, taking a sip of her coffee. "A lot fuckin' different from the last couple days, don't you say?"

"Indeed." John agreed, not raising his eyes from his food.

"I don't know if I got to properly compliment you yesterday for your heroic actions," Amy continued. "You probably hear this a lot, being a Spartan and all, but you're a fucking badass, sir. Thank you."

"Just following orders, Private Smythe."

Amy gave a little smile to Natalie. His identity was confirmed. Leave it to Amy to be stealthy about it. While she often had a bad rap for being rather direct and at times offensive, she occasionally portrayed the talent of getting information without asking a single question.

"I never caught your name, sir."

"117. Spartan 117."

"That can't be the name you were born with!" Amy raised a brow, scoffing. Natalie held her breath – wondering if that response might be a tad too friendly to use when speaking to a MCPO.

"John," the Spartan replied after a beat. "My name is John. Master Chief Petty Officer John 117."

"John," Amy sounded it out. She extended her hand out to him. "Pleased to meet you, sir. Private Amy Smythe." She glanced to Natalie. "And Private Natalie Klein. At your service."

John stared at her hand for a moment, but finally reached over and gave it a firm shake. He watched surprise flash across Smythe's features, undoubtedly at the strength behind his grip.

He glanced to Klein, who was watching this unfold almost nervously. She had finished her breakfast, save for the mug of coffee that she silently raised to her lips. He hesitated for a moment, but held his hand out to her.

Natalie's eyes fell onto the Spartan's large outstretched hand, and she quickly reached out, giving him a quick handshake, mentally wondering how many Covenant he had killed using that hand alone.

She glanced up to his face, searching for any signs indicating his intention to get her into trouble for earlier. She saw none, for his expression was rather neutral, as it usually appeared. She could read nothing.

"I need another cup of coffee." Amy stood up and hurried off, leaving Natalie and John alone.

"Sir," she started, feeling heat rising to her cheeks in a form of a blush. "About earlier this morning…"

"It's fine," he replied curtly, sounding as if he wanted to avoid the subject as much as she did.

"No. I apologize. It's fucking unprofessional."

"I noticed no favouritism between you and the Lieutenant."

"No. It's a rule. I don't want to be treated any differently." It felt so strange having this conversation with a Spartan.

His eyes dropped to her tray.

"Are you finished? I can take that for you."

"I got it."

John stood. Taking his own tray, he extended his hand out to her.

"It's no inconvenience."

Realizing there was no point in arguing, she handed her tray to him.

"Thank you, sir."

John swivelled and went off to dispose of the trays, and Natalie could feel many pairs of eyes on her. She glanced over to Myles' table and met his eyes. He looked instantly sour, but dropped his gaze back to his food. _Fuck_. She could only begin to wonder what he could be thinking.

Amy came back, clutching a full mug of coffee. She immediately noticed John's absence.

"Hey, where the fuck did…"

Before she could finish her sentence, amber lights lining the wall began to flash, a beeping alarm screaming its way through the mess. The two women startled in surprise.

Captain Thomsen's voice came over the loudspeaker.

" _All personnel to battle stations, I repeat all personnel to battle stations. This is not a drill. Will the Master Chief please report to the bridge immediately."_

There was a clatter as John discarded the trays he'd been carrying onto the nearest table and took off in a sprint. Even in the immediate hustle that overtook the mess, he was the first one out the door before most had even stood.

* * *

John arrived on the bridge, rushing up alongside the Captain and Dr. Halsey. Despite having run the whole way, he hadn't even broken a sweat.

The various bridge technicans were chattering nervously and tapping away at their workstations. The ship's AI shimmered on her holographic panel. Thomsen and Halsey were staring up at the main holographic screen, their expressions grim.

"What's going on?" John demanded.

"A Covenant assault carrier and its whole fleet somehow followed us into Slipspace," Thomsen replied. "I honestly thought we covered our tracks well enough. We have exited Slipspace in hope of misleading them, as our destination is only 50,000 light years from Earth's solar system." He turned to the ship's A.I, who called herself Keira. "Are you getting any readings?"

"Yes. I am tapping into their battle net as we speak," she answered quickly. "Just let me skim the most recent information… yes, just what I thought. They were on the other side of Capricornia when they received signals of our Slipspace rupture. They are still following us; currently they are one light-year behind us in the Slipspace void. The assault carrier is called _The Domination_ … seems to be captained by Sangheili M'to 'Malnoonee, Special Ops. The main cruiser accompanying it, _The Redemption_ , is captained by Rtas 'Vadumee, Zealot. Lucky I picked up their signals. We'll be ready for them hopefully by the time they exit Slipspace."

"How many drop ships are there?" Dr. Halsey asked wearily.

"Five... ten… thirteen to be exact, ma'am," Keira replied. "We're in for quite the fight. I expect they will try and invade us by attaching to our escape pods."

"Fuck," Thomsen muttered. "We're going to need everything we've got. How much time until they exit Slipspace?"

"Based on previous data archived by other Halcyon-class cruisers during conflict with Covenant ships, I can calculate an average; my best estimate is ten minutes, forty-three seconds and counting."

Thomsen turned, meeting John's eyes.

"You know what we need you to do, 117."

* * *

In the weapons bay, Lieutenant Coddington and several officers were trying their best to control the rising tension as the marines got geared up and gathered their share of weapons and ammo. Coddington was handing out mags – seven 30 round magazines per man: six to be placed in the tac vest, one in the weapon for a total count of 210 rounds. They could be made to last if one controlled their fire.

7 day chit be damned – Natalie stood in line behind Amy, dressed in her full battle gear. They needed every man they could get. She tried to ignore the churning in her gut that she always got before a battle.

"This is fucking chaos," Amy commented, glancing back at her. Concern flashed across her features. "You alright? You look pale."

"Just waiting for the day I get used to this shit, that's all."

They collected two grenades each, placing them in their grenade pouches on their tac vests.

"If they fucking blow us up, I hope it's quick. That's all I can say."

"Morbid, but logical." Natalie accepted her M6D pistol and three magazines. She glanced down the line, seeing Myles was handing out assault rifle mags. He handed Amy hers then his eyes locked on Natalie's.

"You're on a fucking…"

"We fucking need every last man. I'm fighting." Natalie said firmly, holding out her hands for the magazines.

Myles pursed his lips, brows furrowing. He slapped the bundle of mags into her grasp.

"Don't fucking get yourself killed, Nat. Go get 'em."

She nodded, feeling her stomach churn once more. Her hands trembled slightly as she shoved the magazines into her tac vest, moving down the line. She slapped the last mag into the rifle, cocking it.

Then, a great rumble vibrated throughout the entire ship. The lights flickered once, twice. The room fell deathly quiet, all movement suddenly coming to a halt. There was a brief moment of unanimous dread that in a second, the ship would be torn apart and they would all meet a fiery death. But seconds ticked on, life continued.

Coddington broke the silence, confirming everyone's speculations.

"They're here."


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

Onboard the Covenant ship _The Domination_ , Ship Master M'to 'Malnoonee sat in his chair on the bridge. The Elite, donning silver armour, rested his elongated head on his hand. He let out a throaty chuckle to himself, his beady eyes narrowing as he watched on the holographic screens as the majority of his boarding craft made it to the underbelly of the human ship, commencing their invasion.

They had lost five boarding craft – a common average, but the most important craft had survived the ship's defences. The mission could continue.

The image of _The Redemption's_ commander, Rtas 'Vadumee flickered onto the main screen, interrupting 'Malnoonee's observation.

"'Vadumee, what is it now?" 'Malnoonee snapped in his Sangheili tongue, clicking his mandibles in irritation.

"My apologies, brother. Has he survived the invasion?"

"Yes." 'Malnoonee leaned back in his chair, drumming his long fingers on the arm rests.

"You have yet to fully clarify your intention for him."

"The Demon."

"You believe it is aboard this ship?"

"Yes. I can feel it in my gut."

"You have chosen wisely. 'Kolsamee is an excellent warrior, with over a hundred assassinations; one of the best Stealth Spec Ops that we have. He will get the job done."

"Oh, I don't want the Demon killed. At least not yet."

'Vadumee tilted his head in confusion.

"Brother… surely…"

"If the Demon is indeed aboard, we need to learn more about it. It's skills, it's patterns, it's weaknesses, if there are more like it out there. We do not even know if it is human. It will be 'Kolsamee's mission to discover these things. Once we know, he has been instructed to assassinate this Demon. If there are more, we will do the same to them. The Demon's kind must be eliminated."

'Vadumee narrowed his eyes, but finally gave a nod.

"Very well, brother. I'll be waiting for your signal." His image flickered and disappeared.

'Malnoonee let out a low laugh, staring at the _Hercules_ as it once appeared on his screens. Now, all he had to do was wait.

* * *

In full armour, John bolted down the hallway, heading towards the escape pods. He already could hear gunfire from both human and Covenant weapons down nearby hallways. He rounded a corner and a plasma bolt whizzed right by his head, crackling the air.

A small group of Grunts and an Elite had jumped out of the nearest escape pod. The rest of them had dispersed into the ship. Upon seeing him, the Grunts let out several high-itched wails; the Elite pointed in his direction and let out a low guttural roar.

Ducking back behind cover, John knew the quick fix for the little clique of aliens. He plucked a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin with a click. He reached out from behind the wall and tossed the grenade underhand. He heard the pin separate and ting off the floor, then the low clunks as the grenade hit the floor-plates and bounced. Not a second later, an array of surprised yells sounded from his enemies as they spotted it.

 _Boom._ The voices instantly were silenced as the concussion rocked the hallway, vibrating the floor plates. A Grunt body went flying past John and came to a skid not three feet away, leaving a streak of light blue blood on the floor behind it.

The Spartan whipped around the corner, drawing his pistol from his utility belt. The hallway was splattered with alien gore and severed Grunt limbs, however the Elite was still standing – clearly dazed but alive. It's armour's shields sparked and crackled as they tried to recharge. The Elite didn't have time to raise it's weapon before it was executed with a well-placed bullet to the head.

Something close to a sigh escaped the alien as it crumpled to the ground with a dull thud, dark purple blood oozing from the fair-sized hole in its skull. Holstering his pistol and switching to his AR, John continued down the hall.

His HUD came to life with more enemies. As he drew closer, he could hear not only Covenant, but Human weaponry and shouting.

The firefight was taking place at an intersection of hallways just a few hundred feet from the ship's service elevator. Several hatchways provided some cover for the squad of marines facing off against a group of Covenant. The motion-censored doors were hissing in confusion from the continuous fire-and-duck tactics, inching forward to close, being struck by plasma as they did so and sliding back open as the marines clustered around the entrance dodged to and fro.

"Take their fucking shields down! Someone throw a frag, dammit!" John recognized the voice of Lieutenant Coddington. He picked the officer out of the group, struggling along with the handful of marines in his squad to avoid the nearly-continuous fire from the aliens.

The Covenant group consisted of two Elites and a cluster of Grunts, who all swarmed around the service elevator, leaping about and firing angrily down the hall.

"Thank fuck!" John heard one of the marines cry out as they noticed him. Numerous quick glances back at his direction followed, smiles appeared, morale improving instantaneously.

Myles felt relief flood through him as he spotted the green giant thundering down the hall towards them. His presence quickly attracted the attention of the Covenant, as well. For a haunting moment, all fire on both sides stopped.

John slowed his pace, feeling the human and alien stares. One of the Elites in the group appeared to almost get excited at his appearance. It pointed a finger at him.

" _Wort, wort, wort_!"

"What the fuck?" Myles felt bewildered. Why had this Spartan's entrance put a halt to the whole damn firefight? Surely the Covenant knew what he was – or maybe they didn't.

The pause was an opportunity which one of the marines took advantage of. A familiar _click_ of a grenade pin being plucked tore through the odd silence – then with a rough overhand throw, the frag was sent sailing through the air, directly towards the cluster of aliens.

"FRAG OUT!"

"TAKE COVER!" Myles bellowed, plastering himself back against cover. The grenade had landed particularly close. It would be a rough one. The yells of the aliens were immediately drowned out by the explosion. The concussion tore through the corridor, jarring every bone in the Lieutenant's body. He felt his teeth gnash together, the force feeling as if he had been punched in the face.

But his squad was fine. Myles shrugged off the after-shock, spotting Corporal Hamlin in the hall across from him, grinning from ear to ear.

"You love to cut it close, don't you, fucker!?" he snapped.

"Hell, sir, ain't no other way to have fun!"

Although the grenade had been thrown closer than John would have preferred, it got the job done. He murmured a quick 'good job' to Hamlin as he passed him, stepping out from cover to examine the blast radius. He heard footsteps following, and a quick glance back told him it was Lieutenant Coddington, weapon at the ready.

Ahead, the hallway where the Covenant had been looked a mess of blue and purple blood, bodies and limbs. All were dead save for one Elite. They were always the hardest to kill.

It lay on the floorplates, body in spasms and littered with shrapnel. One of its hands had been reduced to a grisly mass of shredded flesh, hanging in tatters from the pale, white bone. Each breath it drew gurgled, dark purple blood bubbling in the back of its throat.

Taking in the scene, a few steps behind John, Myles felt his stomach do a flip. The grenades always did one hell of a job, but made a terrible mess. He pitied whoever would be assigned deck scrubbing duty after these skirmishes.

Izo 'Jaramee knew he was dying. The pain was already beginning to fade away into a background fuzz. Each breath he struggled to take. It would all be over soon; he would die an honourable death – for he had uncovered the truth that Ship Master 'Malnoonee wished to discover. It stood above him now.

"The Demon," 'Jaramee croaked into his headset. "The Demon is here."

He let his head fall back onto the floorplates, the armour hitting it with a thunk. His mandibles fell open, quivering as he managed one last chuckle.

He could only watch as the Demon raised his weapon and shot him in the head.

"What the fuck did it say?" Myles demanded, staring down at the body. Perhaps Spartans had translators built into their suits. He received no response from him, however.

John's HUD blinked – a dozen or so red blips appeared within his radar, approaching quickly. He raised his weapon.

"Ahead. There are more on the way." John glanced back at the marines instinctively. "Take cover. The element of surprise is to our advantage."

"Begging your fucking pardon there, Spartan," Coddington snapped, his tone darkening. "Forgetting who's in charge?"

The HUD in John's MJOLNIR armour was more advanced than the marines', accurate down to the meter. The Covenant would be on them before Myles could even finish his own set of orders. Of course, he didn't know that. John fidgeted with anticipation, staring down the Lieutenant.

"Sir."

"Let's meet the fuckers head on. Conserve ammo, though. Three to five round bursts, only splurge on the…"

The Covenant would be around the corner in three.

"…and aim for the fucking Elites…"

"Sir."

Two.

"…try not to…"

"GET DOWN!" John reached out and grabbed Coddington by the tac vest and tossed him back against the wall, just as a hot blue plasma bolt sizzled past inches from the Lieutenant's face.

Myles blinked, still feeling the heat from the plasma that had narrowly missed him. His breath caught in his throat, his limbs locked up. The firefight erupted around him. _That plasma bolt would have melted the skin right off my fucking skull_. _I would have been dead before I hit the ground_. The Spartan. His eyes locked on the green armour-clad soldier. He had just disobeyed his order, but in the same second, saved his life.

One breath, two breath, three. Myles gave his head a shake and snapped to, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Back to it, then. There were still Covenant to kill.

The group of Covenant consisted of Grunts, save for one Elite accompanying them. As always, Grunts dropped like flies under the hail of bullets. Without shields, their armour could only protect them for so long.

When the last Grunt dropped dead, Coddington heard the Spartan scream out another order.

"Hold your fire!"

Briefly, rage coursed through the Lieutenant. The idea of the Spartan continuing to usurp his power infuriated him, but he felt all eyes on him curiously, looking to him to approve of the Spartan's orders.

"You heard him. Hold your fucking fire!" he finally bellowed. _That fucking Spartan_. He'd let it slide just this once. He watched as the Spartan tore down the hall, charging directly at the lone Elite, opening fire.

"He's fucking insane!" One of the men commented.

"Or invincible," Hamlin added.

John closed distance with the Elite. It roared angrily at him, it's armoured shields sparking viciously as they struggled to uphold against the persistent fire. Raising its plasma rifle, the Elite returned several shots his way. The Spartan had to drop to the floor to dodge them, a couple soaring so close that they sent the temperature control within his armour haywire.

Then, John's eyes locked on the solution that would end this firefight in a flash – literally as well as figuratively. By the dead body of a Grunt, lay a plasma grenade.

He snatched it up and was to his feet in a blur, priming the grenade with his thumb. It came to life with a sickly blue glow. Drawing his hand back, John hurled the grenade at the Elite, sticking it right to his head.

The Elite let out the most pitiful yowl and began to thrash frantically, realizing its life had been shortened to seconds. John bolted past it, throwing himself to the floor and covering his head with his hands. His armour sparked against the floor plates as he skidded several feet down the hall.

The Elite's head disappeared with the flash. Heat from the explosion filled a small radius, the air popping and sizzling. Brain matter and chunks of the Elite's skull were plastered all over the walls.

An array of disgusted sounds and exclamations sounded from the squad of Marines as they emerged to observe the remains. John grabbed his rifle and got to his feet, his armour splattered with gore. He glanced down at himself, flicking a rather large glob of flesh from his chest plate.

"See," Hamlin let out a laugh, glancing back at Lieutenant Coddington. "I like how this guy does things."

"Shut the fuck up," snapped Myles, stepping forward, eager to take the lead. He gave the Spartan a nod as he ran past him. "Come on troops! There are more of those fuckers where these came from!"

* * *

At the escape pods further aft, Privates Klein and Smythe had just successfully finished their own firefight. With help of their squad they had pinned down and destroyed seven Grunts. They fell easily under fire, wailing like little children as they died.

"We fucking destroyed them!" Corporal Carter looked around, impressed. He was short and stocky, with a pockmarked face and a tattoo of a snake that curled its way up his neck, its tongue just touching his ear.

"That's fucking odd, don't you think?" Klein spoke up, as she and the others wandered through the bodies. "The Grunts rarely fight alone. There is usually an Elite with them."

"Go find it, then," Smythe smirked. "You are up for tackling the bastards. Pretty good at it, too."

"That true, then?" Carter raised a brow. "She's the one who took down the Ghost, eh?"

"I thought that was a fucking rumour goin' round." Private Ellis spoke up, looking to Klein. He was tall, with a square face and a permanent shit-eating grin. "Wouldn't be the first one about you, though. Officer's slut, ain't ya?"

Klein's face transformed into one of anger, her cheeks flushing a deep red.

"Shut your fucking gob before I shut it permanently, you ugly fuck!"

"I'd like to see it. Suck my dick first, though, would ya?"

Klein started towards him, fists clenched, jaw set, her footsteps sounding like thunder on the floor-plates.

"I'll fucking wipe that stupid fucking grin off your…"

"Hey! Hey! HEY!" Carter dove in-between them, pushing Klein back and shoving Ellis back against the wall. "Stop it right now! For the love of fucking Christ!"

"Fuck off you ignorant prick!" Smythe spat at Ellis, grabbing a hold of Klein's sleeve to keep her from going after him again.

"Go fuck yourself!"

"You first!" Smythe held up her middle finger. Ellis was about to retort, but Carter gave him a shake, and yelling followed.

"Show some fucking respect to your team members, Ellis! We don't all have to like each other but…"

Klein heaved a huge sigh, whirling away and ignoring Carter's advice. She shrugged off Amy's hand from her shoulder, shaking her head and letting out a curse beneath her breath. She was shaking. She normally didn't let any comments get to her, but her nerves were wearing thin. Emotions were high, adrenaline along with it.

"Split up into fire teams!" She heard Carter order. "If there was an Elite with those Grunts, we'll find the fucker."

"Let's go, partner." Smythe ushered her down the hall. She checked her ammo on her weapon, reloading quickly for a full mag.

Klein walked along silently, the voices of their squad members fading away as they separated.

"You good, now?" Smythe asked softly.

"Right as fucking rain."

"I thought you were going to actually hit him. Ellis is a fuckstick. He just likes to get people going. Maybe a punch to the nose might shut him up."

"I would've if Carter hadn't gotten in the way."

"Pain getting to ya?" Smythe theorized.

"A little." Her ribs were on fire. "Nothing I can't ignore. Making me fucking angry, though."

"No kidding."

"I was surprised Carter even listened to me, I'm sure there's not a…"

A large Elite suddenly emerged from around the corridor, moving quickly. Before either Smythe or Klein could react, it had smashed Smythe across the face with its arm. The blow instantly knocked her unconscious, and Natalie could only watch as her friend's body skidded aside, crumpling to the floor in a motionless heap.

"AMY!" She screamed, stepping backwards, her voice echoing down the halls. The Elite stood in the middle of the hall. It was huge, donned in black armour – a colour she had not seen Elites have before.

Shoulders heaving with each rattling breath, it looked down at the human it had just struck, and then locked its gaze on her. The eyes were yellow, malicious. Saliva pooled around its mandibles, dribbling down onto the floor.

"Fuck," Natalie whispered. She raised her weapon to fire, but with a hearty blow, the Elite knocked it from her hands. She heard it clatter to the floor and skid away. Taking frantic steps backwards, she knew her squad mates couldn't be too far away. The Elite rushed her, and she started to scream, the sound piercing down the halls.

The Elite's hand closed around her throat, and it lifted her from the ground and slammed her against the wall, its grip around her throat tightening. Her scream cut to a sickly gasp. She couldn't breathe. Frantically, she squirmed, pried at its fingers. It was no use. They were like a vice. A great pressure began to build in her head. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No sound came out. No oxygen travelled down her airway. The image of its ugly face, those evil yellow eyes, began to blur. White spots danced in her vision. The last conscious thought that went through her mind was: _This is where I'm going to die._

* * *

John heard the screams first. A woman's screams. Seconds later, Lieutenant Coddington heard them too. John watched as panic crossed the Lieutenant's face, colour leaving it. He broke into a sprint, not waiting for the others.

"Lieutenant!" John called, but it was no use. He took off after him, the marines following. "Sir! Stop! It might not be safe!"

John's words fell on deaf ears. Myles thundered down the hall as fast his legs would carry him, rounded the corner – just as the scream cut off. He blindly followed his HUD. He was seeing two friendly blips ahead, one red.

He heard the Spartan right behind him, and his squad of marines following a lot less stealthily.

Hurrying around the next corner, Myles took in the scene he had been dreading. John quickly stopped short behind him. Myles spotted Private Smythe lying still halfway down the hall, her helmet knocked off, her copper curls sprawled free of the braid she usually wore.

Several feet away from her, a large Elite had a marine – _Natalie_ – pinned to the wall by the throat. Her face was a reddish-purple, her body hung limply like a rag doll.

Myles let out an animalistic yell and charged at the Elite, firing a couple of shots into the air. John shouted after him, knowing that that Elite would kill him before he could blink.

To everyone's surprise however, the Elite turned, dropping Private Klein carelessly to the floor. Her body landed with a thud, and she made no sound. Its eyes locked on John, completely ignoring Coddington. The Demon. Spec Ops K'tao 'Kolsamee let out a throaty chuckle. He had seen all he needed to see. He turned, and fled.

The Elite was gone in a blur, around a corner and down another corridor. Myles thought about pursuing it, but turned around to face his squad, glancing to Natalie and Amy lying on the floor. His voice wavered:

"GET THAT FUCKER!" he bellowed.

John kneeled next to Private Smythe – she stirred when he touched her shoulder. He brushed her hair from her face to reveal a trickle of blood running down from her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked at him curiously.

"Good to see you, sir." She murmured.

Then, a beeping started on his HUD.

Private Klein - vitals dropping.

He whipped around, seeing Myles on his knees by the Private's side. His face was pale, but he was trying his hardest to keep himself composed. John shot to his feet, and was next to her in a second.

"Give me room, Lieutenant."

John pressed his fingers to her throat to feel for a pulse. There wasn't one. Taking a deep breath, John pulled off his helmet, his suit depressurizing. He met Coddington's eyes.

"Go aid Private Smythe."

"Natalie?" John heard her call, her voice sounding worried.

He felt the Lieutenant's vicious stare as he unzipped Private Klein's tacvest and ripped open the Velcro of her frag vest. Coddington was motionless as John leaned down, pinched Klein's nose, and put his lips over hers, filling her lungs with air. Drawing back, he placed both hands in the centre of her chest, and began to do compressions. Finishing those, Natalie still remained unresponsive.

"DO IT! NOW!" John bellowed.

A brief defiant second passed, but it would be the last time he would say it. He heard Myles get to his feet as he lowered his head, pinching Natalie's nose. He placed his mouth over hers once more. At the end of his breath, he felt her jerk, and drew back. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped loudly, clutching at her chest.

"Private Klein," he spoke softly. "It's me, Master Chief." He paused, remembering their conversation at the breakfast table. "John."

She met his eyes, taking in several panicked breaths, but nodded.

"You were strangled," he continued. "I just resuscitated you. Focus on breathing."

She took a few more gulps of air, then spoke.

"You saved my ass." She reached up and placed her hand on his face. It felt clammy. John stiffened, not expecting her to touch him. A small smile spread on her lips. "Thank you." Her hand slid down, around behind his neck. "Help me up, sir."

John slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and guided her into the sitting position.

"Stay here for now," he said. "Do you feel dizzy?"

She placed her hand to her head.

"Mmm," she muttered. "Give me a moment."

Lieutenant Coddington and Private Smythe approached them, dropping to their knees. Relief was apparent on both their features, but especially noticeable on Coddington's face.

"Don't fucking do that to me again," he told her as if it were her fault.

John raised a brow, but said nothing.

"Did you kill that fucker?" Smythe spoke up, rubbing at her face. "The Elite?"

As if on cue, Coddington's squad returned, clattering their way down the corridor, faces flushed from exertion. Corporal Hamlin stepped forward, bearing the news.

"We don't know where it is, sir."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Myles demanded furiously.

"We lost it."

"It's a fucking Elite, dammit! A big one. How do you lose it?"

"Invisibility cloaking." John spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him. "That Elite was a different rank. I've only seen a few so far in the war. They're stealth, used primarily in special operations, suicide missions, reconnaissance…"

"If he had invisibility cloaking, how come he didn't use it earlier?" Smythe spoke up. "That fucker was far from invisible when he came around the corner and knocked me out, let me tell you that!"

Myles looked to John.

"If anyone can find it, you can. Fucking kill it before it tries to strangle any more of my marines."

"Yes, sir." John got to his feet.

"Look!" Hamlin pointed out the window at the end of the hall. The boarding craft were pulling away from the ship.

Running footsteps echoed down the hall. John turned, seeing another squad of marines had arrived. Corporal Carter lead them, his face grim. He bore the same news.

"They're leaving!"

"What?" Myles demanded. He looked to the Spartan. "Have you seen this before?"

"No." John didn't like this, one bit. "Stay here. Ensure Private Smythe and Private Klein make it to the medical bay. I'll be back."

He took off without another word. The marines clustered in around Klein, who still sat on the floor, looking dishevelled. Proper colour was returning to her face now, but she felt weak and slightly disoriented.

"What happened to you?" Carter asked.

"I was dead." She said, her voice sounding far off. "Then John saved me."

"John?" Myles spoke up, looking confused. "Who the fuck is John? You seem confused, Klein."

"John is Master Chief," she replied quietly. She reached under her chin and undid her helmet strap, peeling it off her head and dropping it to the floor. She glanced up at Myles, and saw a flicker of anger flash across his face.

"What happened?" Carter continued.

"A stealth Elite, I guess." Smythe spoke up. "Hit me, knocked me out – and strangled her. Would've finished the job if Chief and Coddington hadn't showed up."

"Fuck."

"Carter. Hamlin. Help Smythe and Klein to the medical bay, get them both checked out for concussions. And I doubt that Spartan performing chest compressions on you did any good for your broken ribs." He met Klein's eyes.

"Well I'm alive, aren't I?" she quipped. Hamlin helped her to her feet, draping her arm around his shoulders for support. She grimaced as a searing pain ebbed through her chest.

"I'll talk to you afterward."

"Right. I'm sure you have a lot to fucking say."

* * *

K'tao 'Kolsamee had engaged his invisibility cloaking and had easily evaded the squad of marines that had attempted to pursue him. He now had taken cover in one of the small service passageways that riddled their way throughout the ship. He had to crouch not to hit his head on the ceiling.

He tapped his helmet. His signal to _The Domination_ was fading in and out. He growled softly to himself. The boarding craft had likely already gone.

'Kolsamee had confirmed the Demon's presence onboard, and now his mission could continue. He was to observe the creature's habits. Learn what it really was – human, robot or something else. It had strength that equalled most Sangheili. Skills in battle that made the rest of the Humans seem more pathetic than they already were. If there were more creatures out there, they could severely impede their movement toward the Great Journey.

Finally his comms cleared.

"Ship Master."

"'Kolsamee. Good to hear from you."

"The Demon is on board."

"You aren't the first to have seen it. Our troops have received order to return to our ship. You're on your own now. You know what to do."

On the bridge, Captain Thomsen found himself baffled by the Covenant retreat. Dr. Halsey had remained on the bridge for the duration of the battle, listening to the Marine's comms.

"I don't believe it." Thomsen said.

"They could easily overpower us and destroy us if they wanted to. It makes no logical sense," the AI quipped.

John appeared on the bridge. Thomsen and Halsey turned to look at him. A smirk appeared on the Captain's face, noting the blood splattered all over his armour.

"Got the job done, Chief. Good job."

Dr. Halsey's face blanched, looking John up and down.

"I have to keep reminding myself what I trained you to do," she said softly. "Seeing you covered in blood still makes me feel uneasy."

"They're retreating, sir?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Unless they are planning to engage in ship-to-ship combat," Keira spoke up.

"Beat them to it," Thomsen snapped. "I've had enough of their fucking games. Charge up the MAC guns, get a lock on _The Redemption_. Take it out."

A tremor tore through _The Redemption._ Sparks shot from several of the bridge holographic panels, those on the bridge that had been standing were thrown to the floor. 'Rtas 'Vadumee had to reach out to catch himself, cursing in Sangheili.

"Assessment! What is going on?"

The ship shook again, the lights flickered once, twice, then out. The bridge was plunged into a few terrifying seconds of blackness before the backup systems restored the power. A whole side of the wall of the bridge had fallen loose. Down the hall, 'Vadumee could smell smoke.

"The _Hercules_ has opened fire on us, sir!" One of the Elites replied.

"We have fires in multiple locations, including the engines!"

"Damn them! Abandon ship!" 'Vadumee growled, slamming his fist against the control panels.

The Elites looked hesitant for a moment, but wouldn't disobey an order. They turned and quickly bolted down the hallway. Now alone, 'Vadumee flicked his long fingers across the holographic panels, seeing the ship's vitals dropping to critical levels. It wouldn't be long now.

"'Vadumee!" A voice came through his headset. It was 'Malnoonee.

"Ship Master."

"Abandon ship, immediately! You're a fine leader, brother – deserving a death much more heroic than this! Your hands are destined to be stained with more Human blood! This destruction of your ship is a cause for you to seek your revenge – thirst for it! Rejoice my brother - we need you with us on our path to the Great Journey."

'Vadumee let out a frustrated snarl, but turned and fled, making his way down the halls, past flames and fallen wall panels. Alarms blared through the ship, the smoke was growing thick.

He made it into the escape pod, strapped himself in and hit the eject button. The pod was vomited out into space, the _Redemption_ growing smaller and smaller through the one observation window as it cartwheeled away.

'Vadumee could see the _Hercules._ Its guns fired two more shots, which soared lazily through space, before hitting the _Redemption's_ hull. Two explosions became three, four; 'Vadumee could only watch in horror as the ship slowly began to collapse inwards, then disintegrated into a sickly white explosion, eerily silent in the black vacuum.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

Onboard the _Hercules,_ the bridge fell silent as the smaller Covenant ship disintegrated.

"Target destroyed," the AI Keira announced quietly. "Now it's their move." She paused for a thoughtful moment. "Well I'll be damned. It seems your plan worked, Captain. _The Domination_ will be entering Slipspace within seconds. They're leaving."

Thomsen glowered out the bridge window. Pieces of _The Redemption_ floated lazily past. He could just see the remaining Covenant ship as it began to slowly creep forward. A white void appeared at the bow, the ship beginning to cruise into it. All at once, the ship was sucked in, disappearing in a flash, the void with it. A shockwave ebbed out through space, hitting the _Hercules,_ vibrating the hull.

"They're gone," Dr. Halsey said quietly, looking up to Captain Thomsen. "But why? They could have destroyed us easily, right?"

"Yes, but it's apparent that wasn't on their agenda." Thomsen turned, looking up into the mirrored visor of the Master Chief. "I believe we were just subject to a Covenant reconnaissance mission."

"Makes sense, sir. I witnessed a Spec Ops Elite during the battle that was equipped with invisibility cloaking." John replied. He glanced down to Dr. Halsey, who suddenly turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Of course!" she announced, her face lighting up. "They were looking for you."

"Do you think?" Thomsen furrowed his brow.

"Why me?" John demanded.

"Very few Covenant have witnessed you and your fellow Spartans and lived to tell about it. You're a terrible threat to them. Rumours must have circulated about your presence on Capricornia. It is quite possible that they followed us to find out the truth."

"If they were so keen on the fact that I was aboard, why not destroy the entire ship and me with it?" The Spartan asked darkly. "Logistically, that would make the most sense, especially if I'm such a threat." He thought back to the dying Elite that had struggled to choke out a few dying words into its comm system. Had that Elite informed the ship about his presence?

"Yes, it would. But apparently they had something else planned." Thomsen threw himself down into his Captain's chair, heaving a sigh and rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Ever since the start of this war, I've not seen anything fucking like it. Master Chief's presence would make sense. We have nothing else aboard that would draw their specific attention. Puzzling. Puzzling indeed." His eyes locked on the Spartan. "You're dismissed."

* * *

Smythe and Klein returned from the medical bay. The announcement of the Covenant retreat had been announced while they were waiting. Aside from minor plasma burns and their individual cases of injury, there had been no severe marine casualties. Morale was high; the joys of victory could be seen plainly on the face of every troop aboard – except for Natalie.

She had been quiet since she left the examination room. Today's events had worsened the condition of her ribs, and would likely lengthen her recovery by several days. But she was alive – and that was all she cared about.

She shrugged out of her kit and stripped down to her grey t-shirt and boxers, sitting down on her bed and curling up against the wall into the fetal position, resting her chin in the dip between her knees. She felt a great amount of anger and disbelief. It was difficult to try to absorb what had happened to her.

Amy, who had three stitches to boast on her forehead, just along her hairline, quickly took note of her teammate's disposition.

"You alright?" she asked cautiously, shrugging off her own kit.

Before Natalie could answer, a knock sounded on the door. Heaving a sigh, Amy pulled her shirt back down that had been halfway over her head, irritation showing on her face.

"What!?" she called.

"It's Lieutenant Coddington." The voice from the other side of the door replied.

Amy rolled her eyes. She quickly gathered up what she needed for a shower, glancing at Natalie.

"I'll leave you two to it."

Amy hit the unlock button on the door, and it hissed open. She headed out, brushing past Myles, throwing her towel over her shoulder.

"Private Smythe, how is your head?" Natalie could hear Myles ask after her.

"Didn't make me any stupider, so it's all good, sir." Amy's voice faded as she quickly took off down the hall.

Myles walked into the room quietly, the doors hissing shut behind him. He glanced around, undoubtedly disapproving of the mess. Tac vests, helmets, combat fatigues and boots were tossed on both sides of the room, beds unmade. A spit bottle sat on Natalie's desk. Another was just visible beneath her bed.

"In boot you would've gotten so much flak for this kind of shit pit," Myles commented with a grin. "Doesn't matter that half of it is Smythe's." He eyed Natalie, who hadn't moved upon his entrance. Her hair was a mess, half falling out of the bun that she had it put in. "Nat?" His voice softened.

Her brown eyes flickered up to meet his, her expression blank.

"What do you want me to do? Start cleaning?" she asked, sarcasm ebbing through her voice.

"Touchy, now are we?"

"I fucking died, today, Myles," she snapped, raising her voice. "And would be still dead if it weren't for Master Chief."

"John, as you called him earlier. I didn't realize you two were on a first-name basis."

"Fuck off. Are you jealous?" Natalie stretched out her legs, pushing herself off the bed. She opened her locker door, and began plucking out items needed for a shower. "Or perhaps you're just pissed because you weren't the one to have the glory of bringing me back to life."

"I'm grateful for him. I owe him my life, too, as of today. I'd have no head if he hadn't've pulled me out of the way of a plasma bolt."

Natalie turned around to face him, her bar of soap in one hand and bottle of shampoo in the other. She raised her brow.

"Stop being a snarky little cunt, then."

She half expected this comment to set him off, but it didn't. His eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down. She felt vulnerable standing before him in just her tshirt and boxers. Of course, he had seen her in much less, but at that moment she felt uncomfortable, especially as his eyes came to rest on her throat.

"Jesus Christ. Your neck is all bruised."

Natalie placed her fingers to it self-consciously, saying nothing. She closed her eyes for a moment, her face showing an expression of pain. When she opened them again, Myles could see they were glittering with tears. He struggled to recall the last time he had seen her cry. They had been 16 or 17, still in high school. They had gotten into one of their fights, as they usually did. She had broken down in tears of anger over something he had said and left out of embarrassment.

She slammed her shampoo and soap back down onto the locker shelf, and threw the door closed with a metallic clang.

"Leave me alone." She said, her voice wavering. She blinked furiously a couple of times, but one tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, shining under the fluorescent lighting of her room. This made her feel even angrier. She didn't want him to see her like this. Crying was weak. She had already been weak enough today.

"Natalie…"

"Did you hear me? I said leave me alone!" She yelled this, taking an aggressive step towards him. She gestured towards the door with a trembling finger. "Get the fuck out!"

Myles stood his ground. He watched her face get impossibly redder as she realized he wouldn't listen to her. Another tear rolled down her face. Her lip quivered in anger. He wasn't about to leave her in a state like this.

"Get the fuck out." She repeated.

"No."

She let out a noise of disgust, looking him up and down.

"After all I've been through today, you just want to fuck me, is that it? Come here for some stress relief, did you? Or are you getting a fucking kick out of this?" She gestured at herself in her emotional state, her tear-stained cheeks. "You like to see me like this do you?"

"No, of course not, Nattie."

"Don't fucking call me that!"

"I came here to see how you are doing – and apparently the answer is not very well."

"What did you fucking expect?" she snapped. "I had some fucking Elite strangle me to death! The doctor said I'm lucky that the bruising and soreness is the only after-effect!"

"When I came around the corner and saw you there… I felt sick. I just lost it, I saw red. I would've beaten that Elite to death with my bare hands if the fucker hadn't run away."

"But it was my fault, though, right?" Natalie watched Myles' expression change into one of confusion. " 'Don't you fucking do that to me again', you said. Nice welcome back from the dead that was. What the fuck was that?"

"Me trying to hide the fact that I care about you more than I should."

"Oh no," a wild grin appeared on her face, and she shook her head, letting out a laugh. "I'm not falling for that one, _sir._ Don't you fucking dare try to make this into something it's not."

"You know how I feel about you."

She let out another laugh.

"Yes, I know exactly how you feel about me. You like my tits, although you prefer my ass. You love the way I fuck you, and apparently can't keep your fucking mouth shut about it because everyone on this ship knows that I'm sleeping with you. I got called an officer's slut, today, matter of fact. And I'm not sure if they meant you specifically, or if they think all the gentlemen are passing me around!"

Myles shook his head.

"I'm not the one getting fucking caught. Who was it that you were speaking so pleasantly to this morning just outside the room?"

So, he had heard that.

"Master Chief."

"Oh, how lovely! What did you do to get out of that? I saw him sit with you and Smythe at breakfast – makes sense now. You must have promised him something for his silence."

Before he could blink, her open palm struck his face. The slap seemed terribly loud in the silence. He recoiled, stepping back towards the door, letting out a curse beneath his breath. His cheek stung viciously.

"You fucking pig. How dare you say something like that to me?!"

Immediately, Myles regretted his words. He knew the second that they came out of his mouth that he should have bit his tongue. Being alone with her always meant their ranks were left at the door. Had this argument been had publicly in the halls, she couldn't have touched him. If there had been witnesses, there would have been no choice but to charge her with striking an officer, although if the right witness had heard what he said, he too could have been charged for harassment. But there were no witnesses, they were alone, and the slap was by all rights, well deserved. _Goddamn it_ , _why do things always have to be tedious with us_? Myles wondered.

"I'm sorry I…" He trailed off. "You called me a cunt! I make a little joke and you smack me?"

"A joke, huh? That's it." She let out a little laugh. Her voice became stern. Definite. "I'm done."

"Nat…"

"No." She flung her locker door back open and gathered her shower things with trembling hands. "I'm done, Myles." She pushed past him, the door hissing open. "Fuck you and the high horse you rode in on."

He heard her footsteps quickly fade down the hall. Angrily, he let out a yell and kicked the door-jamb as hard as he could. Pain shot through his foot, but he could barely feel it as he gnashed his teeth together in frustration. The Lieutenant whirled out of the room and shot off down the hall in the opposite direction.

* * *

Later that night, Natalie went to the NCO's mess. The room was dark, save for the lights by the bar and a couple low lying lamps over the pool tables. A large holographic television was mounted on the wall by the bar. There were fewer numbers present than she would have expected. Clusters of troops were at the various tables scattered throughout the room, and some were playing pool.

Dressed in black sweatpants and a grey sweater, Natalie had the sweater zippered up to her neck with the hood pulled up. The bruises on her neck had gotten worse in the few hours since the incident. They were a mash of purple and blue, and if one studied them close enough, they could make out the outlines of the Elite's fingers. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself.

Not even glancing for familiar faces present, she made a b-line for the bar. She took a seat on one of the stools and ordered a beer. The bartender tonight was one of the guys from Myles' squad earlier, she recognized. Hamlin. Bartending duty at the mess was luck of the draw. A schedule was rotated through and everyone had their turn.

"You're looking rough, Klein." Hamlin commented as he twisted off the cap of the beer bottle and slid it across the counter to her.

"I've been better. Start me a tab, would ya?"

"Roger that."

Natalie raised the cold bottle to her lips, swilling back a mouthful of beer. It was refreshing. She glanced up to the holographic television. A movie was on. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a man sitting down further at the end of the bar. Looking over, she recognized it immediately to be John. If he had noticed her, he hadn't said anything. His eyes were fixed on the bar counter, his gaze rather far off. A glass of what she assumed to be water was in front of him.

"Make that two beer, actually," she said to Hamlin, her eyes not leaving the Spartan.

When the second beer was popped and set in front of her, Natalie grabbed both of the bottles and got up from her seat, moving down towards Master Chief.

John's thoughts were broken as a bottle of beer was set down on the counter in front of him. He looked up, surprised. Private Klein. She dropped onto the stool next to him. Her face looked weary and stressed, but a small smile appeared on her lips, her eyes kind.

"That's for you, sir." She glanced at the beer. She rested her elbow on the counter, dropping her head onto her hand. "Drink up." She raised her own bottle to her lips.

For a moment, John wasn't sure what to do. He hadn't tried beer before. Hesitantly, he reached out and curled his fingers around the bottle, raising it from the counter.

"To you," she said quietly. She held her beer out. When he didn't immediately react, she inched her bottle forward and gently clinked it against his, "for saving my life." She threw her head back and took another drink.

John took a sip from the bottle. Beer had a unique taste, unlike anything he had tried before. But there was a certain aspect to it that was refreshing. He met her eyes, furrowing his brow ever so slightly.

"You don't owe me anything, you know."

She shrugged. "Well, with all due respect, sir, I expect you to finish that beer."

She watched as a smile appeared on his face. At first, it looked almost unnatural, but he let his face relax. He had a small gap between his two front teeth, she noted. If she had blinked, she would have missed the smile, for it was gone in a second. He raised his beer to his lips, taking another drink.

"I'll try my best, Private Klein."

"Please, call me Natalie," she said. "We're in the mess. It's a place to relax, where people come to retreat from the usual restrictions of the Corps."

"Fine," John gave a nod. After a beat, he said. "I like it here."

"Me too. Not just because of the beer."

"Are you sure?"

She let out a little laugh, but nodded.

"Yeah. It's the one place where you don't really feel like you're on a space ship thousands of light years from home."

"Where is home?" John asked.

"Earth. You?"

John looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Here." He watched her expression grow quizzical, but he continued, not allowing her to pry further into the answer. "How is your neck?"

Natalie bit her lip, and then took another drink of beer. She could feel John's eyes on her, and when she met his gaze, she could see concern on his face. A lot more concern than she ever saw with Myles, she couldn't help but notice. And she hardly knew him.

Letting out a little sigh, she reached up and pulled her hood down, then yanked down the zipper of her sweater, exposing her neck. She watched his eyes drop, surveying the damage.

"You're lucky it didn't break your neck," he finally said quietly.

"I'm anything but fucking lucky. This definitely hasn't been my week." She heaved a sigh, zipping up the sweater again, eager to hide the ugly bruises.

"I can see the stress on your face," John commented. He took another drink of beer. The third sip was easier than the first, his palette getting used to the taste.

"Not doing a good job of hiding it, am I? I wish I could manage expressions like you do. So serious all the time."

"You don't want to be like me."

"I dunno, I could benefit with that armour I think!"

Again, John smiled. He let out a little chuckle.

"Maybe."

"I'll be a Spartan." She slapped her hand down on the counter. "Sign me up."

For a second, John wasn't sure if she was joking or not.

"It's not something you have a choice in becoming. They choose you, not the other way around."

"I figured," she smiled. "Besides, I weigh a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet. You've got nearly two feet on me, and I'm not very scary."

"You calling me scary?" John raised a brow. The corner of his mouth twitched into a subtle smirk.

"No!" her eyes widened. "Well… I wouldn't wanna fucking fight ya, but if we keep getting along this well, I shouldn't have to."

"Your opinion of me is scores higher than most. I'll take it."

"What? Are people really intimidated of you? I understand where they're coming from… but…"

"You're the first marine to sit down next to me in the mess and buy me a beer, let's put it that way."

"Hmm. It's a day of firsts for both of us!" She gestured to his beer as he took another drink. "Is that your first beer, ever? You seemed unsure about the concept of cheers."

"Yeah," John admitted, smirking again. "It's not bad, though. I like it."

"Fucking serious? I don't know how I would've survived my time so far in the Corps if there wasn't cold beer waiting for me at the end of the day." She looked across the counter to the selection of liquors. "Although, if the day has been particularly rough, I usually look to whisky. Hey Hamlin! Two shots of Johnnie Walker, please." She turned back to John, grinning mischievously.

"Those both aren't for you, are they?" John watched as Hamlin retrieved one of the bottles from the selection and poured amber-coloured liquid into two tiny glasses.

"Just one." She thanked Hamlin. He raised a brow at her antics, but said nothing, going back to cleaning glasses. She picked up both of the shot glasses, handing one to Chief. His large hand made the glass appear even smaller. "Alright, John, you familiar with shots?"

"No."

"You just tip your head back and pour it all down your throat at once. Don't even try to taste it." Natalie watched John's expression grow confused, but he nodded seriously after a moment, his eyes flickering from her down to the glass in his hand. "We can do it at the same time. On the count of three, alright?"

John nodded again. What in the hell was he even doing?

"One. Two. Three."

John mimicked Natalie, lifting the glass to his mouth and tipping his head back. The liquor tumbled down his throat easily, without any effort. It tasted bitter, and in his throat, it burned. He let out a little cough, setting down the empty glass on the counter.

Natalie wiped at her mouth, grinning. She let out a laugh as she set down her shot glass.

"Oh my fuck! Your expression! I'm sorry!"

"How is that enjoyable?" John questioned. He gave his head a shake, blinking a few times, waiting for the burn his throat to subside.

"Never said it was!" Mischief danced in her eyes.

John could feel the beginnings of comforting warmth rising in his cheeks and a kind of fuzziness forming in his mind. He had only witnessed the effects of alcohol, never experienced it. It was beginning to relax him. He took another sip of beer, in hopes of diminishing the after-taste of the whisky.

"Ah fuck, I never behave," she commented. She finished the last of her beer and ordered another. "I don't know why I always get along well with higher ranks. To the right person, a Private buying a Master Chief drinks… it could get me a good jacking."

"I thought you said this was the place you come to relax and forget about the usual restrictions."

"You're right." She nodded, glancing around. "No one gives a shit. Even if they did, after today I can't say I'd fucking care. Got a whole new lease on life. Being dead for a minute or so kind of does that to you."

John grunted, taking another drink.

"Did Lieutenant Coddington come to see you afterward?" he asked boldly. "I could tell that events earlier concerned him."

"He wasn't concerned in the way that you think," Natalie let out a scoff. "And what you saw this morning, it won't be happening again."

"I don't care what…"

"No, it's not because you caught me," she said. "Our conversation following the battle didn't end nicely. So I ended everything. For good. You wouldn't be able to guess that we've known each other since we were children the way he fucking acts."

"I could always sense that you were close," John replied, swishing around the last of his beer, staring into the contents of the bottle. "And, it was quite apparent today that he _does_ care for you."

"Not enough," she answered bitterly. "Anyway, enough about that subject. It'll just make me angry."

"Fair enough."

All of a sudden, the doors to the mess hissed open. Natalie glanced over her shoulder, seeing Myles enter, with a rather irritated look on his face. He had barely crossed the threshold when he barked: "Make it last call troops! It's almost 2330. I want everyone out by midnight. I'll be back to fucking check."

He must be duty officer for the night, Natalie realized. Hamlin echoed his orders for last call, giving him a sympathetic eyebrow raise.

Myles spotted Natalie almost right away, meeting her eyes almost accusingly. She watched as he glanced to John, then back to her. His eyes narrowed, but he turned and quickly left without a word.

"I didn't realize it was that late," Natalie sighed once he had gone.

"Me either, actually." John said. He finished the remains of his beer.

"Let's get out of here before Coddington comes back." She handed Hamlin her credit card to pay for the drinks. Then, she and John left the mess together. She could feel the stares on her back as she left. A lot of people knew of her and Coddington. To see her with someone else likely raised eyebrows. _Fuck em all_ , she thought.

"Heading back to your bunk?" Natalie asked him as they headed down the hall. She watched as he nodded. They came to a pause at an intersection of hallways. "Your quarters are…" she took a moment to orient herself. "That way?" She pointed down to her left. She could feel the effects of the alcohol. Her legs felt sluggish. Exhaustion was creeping up on her.

"Yes." John nodded, glancing in the direction she pointed. He gestured down the hall in front of them. "And yours are that way. You seem a little confused."

Together they shared a small laugh.

"The halls all look the same." She shook her head, grinning. Her cheeks were pink, John noticed – likely from the alcohol.

"I think you're a little… what do they call it… intoxicated?" John tried out the word, raising a brow curiously.

"Yeah," she admitted. "How about you? I'm not the first-time drinker, here."

"Don't know how to describe it, but I still know my way around the ship. So I should probably get to sleep in case things change," John smirked again. Natalie took note of how quickly he had opened up around her. He had been so serious, his expressions limited – but now she was able to see more of his personality. She liked it.

She extended a hand out to him.

"Well, thank you for being my drinking companion tonight, John. And for…"

"Don't say it." John cut her off, his tone changing, his expression growing serious. He watched as hers altered to match his, her eyes wide and unsure if he was joking or not. He reached out and grabbed her hand firmly. "Thank you for the drinks." He gave it a shake.

Her smile appeared again, and she let out a laugh.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"I've got nowhere else to be."

"Alright."

They said goodnight and parted ways. On her way down the hall, Natalie felt light and bubbly, a permanent smile on her face – all of the day's stressors temporarily forgotten. A few drinks and getting to know someone new seemed to have been exactly what she needed.

She now knew John-117 as someone other than "Master Chief", and it all began with a beer. It was strange to think that the alien-killing warrior in green armour was the same kind, reserved man that she had been sitting next to at the bar. She'd made him smile; she made him laugh. She remembered what he had said – that she was the first marine to cross that barrier and talk to him.

If she was certain of anything, she was glad she did.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

Natalie faded into consciousness, hearing rustling as Amy dug through things in her locker. She rolled over and blinked sleepily at her friend's side of the room as her vision cleared. She saw Amy's ass sticking out from behind the locker door. Something dropped, hitting most of the shelves on the way down before clattering to the tiled floor.

"You slimy cocksucker!" Amy snapped, bending to retrieve what had fallen. Natalie caught a glimpse of a bottle. Shampoo or deodorant, likely.

"Who needs an alarm when I've got you?" Natalie spoke up groggily.

"Oh! Payback for yesterday, bitch. But I'm surprised to see you here." She raised a brow. "Still haven't made up with Myles?"

"No. And I'm not going to." Natalie tossed back the blanket, running her fingers through her hair. "That's the last thing I want to think about first thing in the morning, by the way. Especially before I've had coffee."

"He was some fucking sour to me last night, eh."

"What?" Natalie looked surprised. "That fucker. When?"

"Last night I went looking for you! So I stopped by Myles' room." Amy folded her arms on her chest, dropping against the locker to lean on it. "Fuck. I think I'd rather have found that Elite in there than deal with him. He pulled rank and everything! Basically told me to fuck off and to not bother him again, but not before adding that he didn't know and didn't give a flying fuck where you were. Word for word, unfortunately."

Natalie heaved a sigh, shaking her head.

"I thought he'd take it better than that. That must've been before he saw me in the mess."

"That's where you were! I never thought. Fuck, I'm dumb sometimes. Maybe that punt to the head did more harm than they figured."

"I'm sure you're fine. Yesterday was a long day."

"Yeah. I passed out early – abandoned my search after Myles got all snarky with me, to be honest. Got a good eight hours sleep. You, however, you look tired as fuck. You went and got pissed, didn't you?"

"I wouldn't say that. A few beer and a shot of whisky."

"You're going to be taking no money home if you keep throwing your salary back at the fucking mess, you moron. Were you drinking alone?"

"No actually, I wasn't." A smile crossed Natalie's face. "Guess who, though."

Amy's eyes widened, letting out a theatrical gasp.

"… No! You didn't!"

"Bought him his drinks. He saved my life yesterday."

"You fucking whore. I'm surprised you didn't make a rebound outta that. I sure as hell would've."

"He's really nice."

"Yeah, on the eyes. He's fucking hot, man." Amy raised a brow. "You must've thought about it."

"Actually, sex is not on my mind all the time, thank you. I've been thinking about it a lot less since my main source for it is a fucking asshole."

"Get a new source. Ninety percent of the population on ship is male. It's not like you have a shortage. But maybe I'd wait until your neck doesn't look like it was boot-stomped. Not exactly the most attractive look."

Natalie stood up from her bed, hauling open her locker door to peer into the little magnetic mirror she had stuck to it. She let out a low curse.

"Fuck. It's even darker!"

"They look worse before they look better."

"Do you have any concealer with you?"

"Big fat negative on that one, sweetheart. I'm a ginger. I don't need to make my face look any paler than it already is. Ask the girls down the hall."

Natalie heaved a sigh. She grabbed a clean towel and her shower items, slipping her feet into her flip-flops. She pivoted to face Amy, shrugging her hair back from her shoulders.

"You don't know me personally. First thoughts?" She inquired hypothetically, gesturing to her throat.

"You look tough. And hey, some guys might be into that kinda look. Chin up. I'll meet you in the mess hall."

"Roge."

Natalie went to the showers, quickly stripped and enjoyed her five minutes of hot water. It woke her up, cleaning away the slight inklings of a minor hangover. She dumped shampoo into her palm, before massaging her scalp, working it through her hair. Her mind wandered to the night before, her conversation with John. It had been candid, carefree. He had been really easy-going, especially after he had downed that shot of whisky.

She closed her eyes, and could picture his smile when he laughed at something she said. She rinsed the shampoo from her hair, and began to lather on body wash, scrubbing quickly. Her mind was running, the shower would shut off if she didn't hurry up. She gingerly touched her neck, the skin tender and sore. If she thought hard enough, she could still feel the grip of the Elite's cold leathery hand closing about her throat. Just the faint reminder of it made her chest feel tight, her heartbeat begin to pound with fear. John had saved her. She had been dead, gone. He revived her.

A part of her wished she had been conscious to recall the touch of his lips against hers. She imagined they were rather soft…

The shower shut off, and Natalie's eyes opened. She let out a shaky sigh. Her mind was going nowhere she wanted. She listened for a moment, hearing no one else in the shower room. The water dripping from her body onto the tiles was the only sound.

"Fuck." She ran her hands down her face, then smoothed her hair back, ringing it out. Then she drew back the shower curtain and stepped out, pulling down her towel that she had draped on the stall. Immediately, her eyes locked on the man standing just across from her. John. She caught a glimpse of his genitals and the firm curve of his ass before they disappeared behind the towel he was wrapping around his waist.

Her eyes travelled up his muscular body, droplets of water still glimmering on his skin. The only equivalent resemblance to his physique she recalled seeing was the one time she had been to the Accadamia Gallery in Florence and saw Michelangelo's marble statue _David_.

She felt a surge of desire immediately ebb through her. Her heartrate spiked when John took note of her presence and their eyes met.

Co-ed showers had been in place in the corps for centuries now, and no one batted an eye at the nudity of their fellow soldiers, male or female. However, direct eye-contact was usually something everyone avoided.

"Morning," John spoke first. She thought she caught a twinge of a subtle smile on his face.

"Morning," Natalie's voice croaked, and she cleared it, wrapping her towel about her, tucking it in just beneath her left armpit. She dropped her gaze to her bag of ablutions, as she rooted out her deodorant. "How are you feeling?" She heard the rustling of his own ablutions kit as he began to do the same.

"A little thirsty," was his reply.

She let out a little laugh, hoping that the heat in her cheeks didn't mean she was blushing – but it was likely. She quickly pulled on her underwear.

"It's an unfortunate side effect, I'm afraid." She glanced up, and saw he had done the same and was reaching for his sweatpants.

"I did sleep well, however," he glanced over at her. She had dropped her towel and turned away from him, pulling her sports bra over her head. He took note of a tattoo that scrawled down her right side. Cursive. A phrase – in another language. "What does your tattoo say? It's German, yes?"

Natalie couldn't help but smile. What an obvious way to state that he was staring at her, she mused. She glanced back over her shoulder at him. He had a curious expression on his face, the five o'clock shadow much more visible than it had been the night before.

"Liebe ist Krieg," she answered, the correct accent rolling off her tongue naturally. "Love is war."

John narrowed his eyes, pulling his sweatpants up around his hips.

"I don't know about that."

"It's metaphorical, of course."

"You're German, then?"

"Half. My father is." Natalie glanced to the entryway, as two guys walked in, their ablution kits and towels in hand. She grabbed up her shirt and pulled it over her head, then shook out her hair.

"Breakfast?" John asked her.

A smile crawled onto her lips.

"I'll meet you there in five."

* * *

When Natalie arrived at the mess, John was waiting for her. He handed her a tray and they headed into the steam line together. The air was filled with the smell of bacon grease and maple syrup for the French toast. She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the crowd. She spotted the officer's table, and Myles was there – and his gaze was fixated on her.

His expression was one of malice as he slowly raised his coffee mug to his lips and took a sip. She let a flicker of her 'fuck off' expression flash across her face before turning away from him, sliding her tray along in the line.

"You're popular," John said lowly. He nodded to the cook who gestured towards the scrambled eggs. Natalie glanced up at him, surprised that he had noticed the Lieutenant.

"Unpopular," she replied, too nodding for a heaping scoop of scrambled eggs on her plate.

"All the officers are staring at us now," John said, his eyes barely flickering in that direction. "I don't think it's me they're staring at – although I am used to it."

"I can just imagine all the nice things being said about me," Natalie smiled bitterly, accepting her heaping plate from the cook and setting it on her tray. She and John moved over to the drink station. John poured himself a glass of water and Natalie filled a coffee mug to the brim.

"So it is true, then." John set his glass on his tray and started towards the tables.

"What is?" She inquired.

They found a few free chairs at the end of a table and sat down. The other marines barely glanced at them before continuing on in their breakfast. At least everyone didn't take to staring, Natalie mused.

"How tough you can be on one another."

"There's work politics everywhere you go. Just because we fight on the same side, doesn't mean all of us have to be best friends."

"Of course not, but it's harsh. I've seen two men almost get into a fist fight one time over a woman back on Earth," John said.

"You wouldn't have liked to seen me yesterday, then." Natalie smirked, taking a sip of coffee. "I was ready to beat in the face of the guys from my squad. Smythe had to hold me back."

"Whatever for?" John raised a brow. "That kind of stuff can get you charged, you know."

"I know. He called me an officer's slut."

John's expression darkened at the word.

"Meaning you and Lieutenant Coddington."

"Mmm," she sighed. "I haven't told anyone. I can only imagine it was Myles, unable to keep his mouth shut. Why do you think all of the other officers were staring like that? Because he told them. They know about me, and they likely know we're now finished, too. Now I'm eating breakfast with you… gives them room to speculate."

"Speculate what?"

"That we're fucking." Natalie said without a beat, meeting John's eyes. She expected him to look away, or perhaps appear somewhat uncomfortable at her directness, but his eyes only narrowed.

"We're eating breakfast," John said, gesturing down at his food. "How is that…"

"I don't know. It doesn't make sense. Anyway." She waved her hand, dismissing it.

"Hey, Klein. What the fuck happened to your neck, man?" One of the marines from the other end of the table spoke up. She glanced to his nametag. Turner. She immediately felt several pairs of eyes go to her neck. She reached for the zipper on her sweater self-consciously, pulling it up a few inches, her confidence shrinking.

"Let us see!" Another protested.

"An Elite," She said quietly. "I was strangled yesterday."

"That was you, the one everyone's talking about?" Turner looked fascinated. He was a young man, probably no older than she was. He had buzzed hair and a youthful face, with crooked teeth that appeared too big for his mouth.

"I don't know, is it?" Natalie frowned. "Didn't know my scrape with death had become so widespread."

"Looks rough," he continued. "You're lucky it didn't kill ya."

That was that. The rest of the men at the table got a few more seconds of staring in, before going back to their breakfasts and conversation. Natalie turned to look back down at her plate, fiddling with her fork. She glanced up to John, catching his eye.

"If this is what you're used to, I don't know if I could stand it," she said. "Being stared at all the time. I didn't even think my bruises were that visible."

"They're not now. But they were. Don't let it bother you." John downed the last of his water. Natalie glanced down to his plate and noticed he had finished his breakfast. "Private Smythe is in the steam line, so you can flag her down. I have to go see the technicians about my armour." He stood, grabbing up his tray. "Excuse me."

Natalie nodded in response, watching him as he went. She couldn't help but wonder if this would be last she'd see of him for a while. Surely the issue regarding his armour wouldn't take all day? But who knew, she thought. Spartans were still largely a mystery to her. She hoped that she would find him in the mess again this evening.

As John had said, she spotted Amy getting her food, and quickly caught her eye, waving her over.

"I saw who you were sitting with," Amy said, plopping down into the seat that John had just been in. She smiled. "Something you want to tell me?"

"No. I just ran into him this morning and we ended up going to breakfast together." Natalie shrugged.

"Your run-in didn't happen to occur in the showers, did it?" Amy raised a brow.

Natalie couldn't hold back a smirk.

"Oddly enough."

"Oh fuck," her friend laughed. "I have a feeling things are about to get _very_ interesting in the next few days."

* * *

John was surprised to run into Dr. Halsey at the armoury, likely for no other reason than to be checking up on his armour after yesterday's battle, as well. She was without her lab coat, dressed in a long-sleeved grey blouse, a black pencil skirt and well-used pair of black loafers. Her dark hair was pulled up into a high pony tail and her glasses had been perched into the nest of it just above her forehead.

"Oh, John!" She seemed elated at his presence, pivoting slightly from the two technicians to whom she'd been speaking. She glanced back to them. "This is the person you should see, rather than me. I don't wear it."

The MJOLNIR armour stood assembled on the other side of the room. Specks of Covenant blood still dulled the metallic green paint.

"Ma'am." John gave Halsey a nod, then fixed his eyes on the technicians. "Anything wrong?"

There had been a couple of scratches. The HUD system had been rebooted and reconfigured with an update to better map the interior of a Halcyon-class cruiser, if the need to do so should ever rise again. Quite a bit of gore must be cleaned off. Other than that, the armour was fit for battle.

"How are you adapting to the temporary life of leisure?" Halsey asked John once the technicians had dispersed to get back to their work.

"Fine, I suppose. I found one person aboard who doesn't seem to care what I am, so that is a positive." John glanced down at her, just in time to watch her expression alter at his words. Her thin brows rose in what he could guess to be nothing other than surprise.

"Oh?"

"One of the marines – I saved her life yesterday, as it happens. She had been strangled to death by an Elite – and I reached her just in time to be able to revive her." John daren't meet Halsey's gaze at this moment, rather he fixed his gaze to his armour. He knew in this second, a small proud smile would be on her face, her cheeks would be almost aglow. There was nothing to be proud of – he had been simply doing one of the many things he had been trained to do, to look out for members of the same side. He continued after a beat. "I went to the mess last night in my exploration of the ship, and she showed up not much longer after I did. She bought me a drink. Or a couple, if I'm to be honest."

The curiosity was too much. He had to look at the Doctor's face now. Her lips spread to bare her white teeth in a large smile, faint wrinkles could be seen at the corners of her eyes as she did.

"How did you like it?"

"I liked it fine. We had simple conversation. It felt… relaxing." A pause. "Beer isn't that bad, either."

Halsey let out a soft laugh.

"I'm glad."

"For the first time, I feel I'm starting to get to know someone other than you or one of my Spartans on a personal level. I didn't think it would ever happen. I know her first name. She has a tattoo, in German – and that is because she is half German." John felt a tug at the corner of his mouth, a small smirk that he knew Dr. Halsey would notice in a millisecond. He pursed his lips for a moment in an attempt to hide it. "She has confided in me with information about her personal relationships… which I could go without knowing, but the fact that she's willing to divulge any of that information to me says… I'm not sure what… that she's not intimidated, not afraid of me… that I'm approachable."

"You are, quite - to those who are able to see past their own prejudices and the rumours about the Spartan program."

"Of which she is a minority." John's expression darkened.

"Be thankful for her, even if that is true. A bit of kindness in this war goes a long way." Halsey smiled slightly. Together, they headed towards the exit. "Well, now that we've both confirmed your armour is fighting fit, I suppose I should be getting back. I've been working on a new thesis in my spare time. And I dare say I need another cup of coffee."

John nodded. Halsey didn't let much get in her way, however, it seemed without caffeine, her motivation severely dwindled. Relying on such a substance was foreign to him – John had tried coffee and was well aware of its jolting stimulation, but preferred to function without it.

"You'll be able to keep yourself entertained?" the Doctor paused as they left the armoury and stepped into the hall.

"I should, yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and John?"

"Ma'am?"

"It's going to bother me terribly if this kind marine remains nameless."

"Klein." John replied. "Private Natalie Klein."

* * *

From there, John changed into PT gear and went to the weight room. His mind kept going back to his conversation with the Doctor. She had seemed generally pleased that he had found someone to spend time with, although he wondered, did he tell her _too_ much?

But why would that be an issue? And who else did he have to tell? He shrugged it off.

He had been so enveloped in his thoughts that he had walked rather blindly into the room, not caring to notice who else might be using the weights and machines. He was in the process of loading the right amount of plates onto a barbell when someone tossed their towel and water bottle onto the bench.

"Not in a rush, are you, Master Chief?" It was Lieutenant Coddington. He wore a simple white shirt and grey PT sweats. His face was flushed from exertion, sweat shined on his forehead.

John looked down to the towel and water bottle, then up into the Lieutenant's eyes. His expression appeared rather kind, although there was a slight indication that his mouth could curl into a mocking sneer in any second.

"Not really, sir."

"Good," Myles smiled, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "While we have the place to ourselves, I thought it would be an ideal time to address a… certain issue."

"Sir?" John made the deliberate effort to raise a brow in questioning.

"You're a strong man, aren't you?" Myles looked to the plates on the barbell, mentally adding up the total. John narrowed his eyes, not sure where the Lieutenant was heading. "But, I suppose that's normal with your _type._ "

"I don't underst-"

"Private Klein." Myles snapped to it, his expression all at once darkening. "I'm aware that you know about our… arrangement."

"No more than anyone else onboard," John replied coolly. At once, he saw this hit a nerve with the young Lieutenant. The corner of his mouth twitched, perhaps uncontrollably. He blinked a couple of times, letting his gaze drop to the floor for a moment. John took a deep breath. "I also know it has since come to an end."

"She's so quick to get personal with others, isn't she?"

"I never pried. It was all information that Private Klein chose to divulge to me herself."

Myles let out a little chuckle.

"Is that all she has chosen to divulge to you? You seem suddenly thick as thieves, especially since yesterday."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure any of that is your business."

"Watch your tone, Spartan." Myles snapped. "Your lot think you're so high and mighty, don't you? Strutting around collecting medals in billion-dollar suits of armour like 26th century knights while the rest of us are lead to fucking slaughter."

Of course, John should have expected this kind of talk to arise.

"I'm not an expert on the matter, sir, but I do think it would make it rather hard to lead a platoon with no head." John retorted. "You'd have been ejected into space in a body bag yesterday if I hadn't pulled you out of the way of that plasma bolt."

Myles' mouth had been open to reply but he quickly shut it. He took a step backwards from John, an expression of embarrassment crossing his features.

"I'm not to blame for your personal issues with Klein." John quickly picked up the towel and water bottle and held them out to Myles. "If it's bothering you that much, my advice would be to talk to her. And I'll not judge you for your ignorance about the Spartan program. It isn't the first I've heard things like that, and certainly won't be the last."

Myles swiped his things from John's hands, anger visible on his face. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the weight room. John heaved a sigh, and then turned his attentions back to the barbell. 400lbs should about do it, he thought. He lay down onto the bench, ducking beneath the bell. Wiping the incident from his mind, he began with his reps.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

Dr. Halsey walked onto the bridge, a cup of coffee in her hand. Besides a handful of technicians, the room was empty. Captain Thomsen must be in his quarters, she figured. The ship's AI shimmered to life on her holographic panel, giving her a little wave. She was a busty figure, wearing a business dress and heels. She made a point to change her appearance regularly.

"Good evening Doctor."

"Hello, Keira." Halsey approached the holographic panel. "I have a favour to ask of you."

"Of course, what can I help you with?"

"I need you to pull up one of the files on one of our members aboard."

"Certainly. Let me confirm your security clearance. Ah, perfect. Who would you like to see?"

"Private Natalie Klein. I haven't her service number."

"No problem. Ah. Here you go." The holographic screen shimmered to life, portraying a photograph of Klein and various files of information.

Dr. Halsey studied the girl's face. Young, pretty. Features were serious for the photo – no doubt had been taken upon her enrolment. Her dark hair had been pulled tightly back from her face into a bun. Her full lips were pressed into a thin line, her large eyes portraying a hint of intimidation. Natalie Katja Klein, born 2517 in Hamburg, Germany. _Just nineteen years old_ , Halsey realized, _only a few years younger than John_. Barely an adult, yet she was a Marine, light years from home, defending Humanity against genocide by an alien race. And she was able to see past all the stereotypes of the Spartans and befriend John.

"Is there anything specific you wish to see, Doctor?" Keira questioned.

"No, I just wanted to put a face to a name. Thank you. That'll be all."

* * *

Natalie lay back on her bed, thumbing through a novel. It was one of Amy's. A work of fiction, a highly dramatized romance novel of the typical plot, both incredibly attractive main characters clash with their differences but fall for one another despite it all. While the dialogue was cheesy, the sex scenes were quite raunchy and drew her in.

She hadn't seen John when she went to the mess for dinner. The pasta she had eaten hadn't quite agreed with her so she came back to relax. Her lip bulged with a wad of tobacco. She had a spit bottle next to her on the pillow. Turning a page, Natalie paused to unscrew the cap and spit, just as the door to her room hissed open.

Expecting it to be Amy, she was unpleasantly surprised to see Myles standing in the doorway. Grabbing up a crumpled credit card receipt from the mess that she used as a bookmark, Natalie crammed it into her spot in the book and tossed it aside on the bed.

"The fuck do you want?" she snapped.

"Didn't know you were into romance." Myles stepped into the room, gesturing at the discarded novel. The cover clearly displayed a voluptuous woman in a skimpy dress, pressed against her man's washboard abs. The couple were staring longingly into one another's eyes.

"I'm not. I read what I can." Natalie narrowed her eyes. She flipped the book over so the cover was hidden. "What do you want?"

"I'm taking a bit of friendly advice and have come waving a white flag."

"Too fucking bad. Whether or not you want peace won't change where we stand." Natalie crossed her legs, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She wasn't in the mood to have this conversation.

"I thought you might've gotten over it by now."

"With you eyeballing me and gossiping about me with your fellow 'gentlemen' in the mess every meal?" She raised a brow. "Think again. If anything, you're just digging the hole deeper. And I ain't helpin' you out of it, Myles. Not this fucking time." She spit.

"You've already moved on, then."

"Oh, God! I bought Master Chief a beer! Quick, somebody better tell the Covenant that they don't need to destroy the universe, 'cause it's already fucking ended!" A sarcastic grin flashed across her face upon saying this. She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head.

She watched as Myles' frowned, irritation appearing on his face. He crossed the room in two strides, pulling out her desk chair and dropping into it. He took a deep breath, his gaze falling to her throat.

"If I stopped caring about you, you'd know. I wouldn't speak another word about you to anyone, let alone look at you if I didn't have to."

"Why don't you fucking start?"

"Why are you trying to shut me out? This hard-ass front might work with the likes of guys like Ellis, but I can see right through it. I'm sorry about my comments the other day, I really am. You endured a traumatic event and I failed as a leader to provide you with the proper support…"

Natalie sighed, shaking her head. She uncrossed her legs, draping them down over the edge of the bed. She wedged the remnants of the tobacco from her lip and dropped it into the mouth of the bottle, then spit loudly, screwing on the cap and tossing it aside. She pressed her fists into the mattress, breaking eye contact with him.

"See… I don't want to deal with this." She lightly punched the mattress. "I don't want your apologies. I don't want to hear about where you failed. I don't want you trying to twist this around and…"

"Nat…"

"Just stop. If I decide to forgive you it'll be on my own terms, on my own time, not by you coming back here sucking my ass and acting all fucking sorry for yourself!" She stood up. He rose with her, nearly a head taller. Their eyes locked. "Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Myles sighed.

Natalie felt Myles' fingers brush the bare skin of her arm, warm to the touch, tickling. She shivered, glancing down to his hand as he traced it up along her arm, purposefully brushing against her breasts as he reached up to cup her face gently. She could've shoved him away right then and there, but she held her breath, feeling the warm pulse of desire begin to ebb through her, a tantalizing throbbing that was beginning to intensify between her legs. His thumb brushed along her cheek, across to her lips. The space between Myles' face and her own was rapidly closing. She could feel his breath on her skin. At once, his hand had left her face and curled through her hair, tightening around a handful. With a gentle tug, he pulled her head back to better expose the tender, bruised skin of her throat.

Upon feeling his hot mouth against her neck, she flinched. She closed her eyes, fighting her desire. _I could drag him back into my bed right now and fuck him._ _But what would that prove?_ _That I'm weak; that I let my feelings control me,_ she thought. _It would let him think he can continue to treat me the way he has_ _been. No._

She pressed her hands firmly against his chest, gently shoving him away. His lips leaving her skin made her silently sigh in relief. She began shaking her head, watching the frustration immediately flash across his handsome features. In this lighting, she could still see sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and nose. His blue eyes were alive with desire.

"Stop. That's enough." She licked her lips, which suddenly felt dry. Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair. "Please leave, Myles."

"What?" His voice was calm, quiet, yet filled with disbelief.

She said nothing more, and stood her ground. A few seconds ticked by where he stared at her, as if he wished he could mentally convince her to continue with his gaze alone. He reached out for her for just a moment, before letting his hand fall to his side.

"Christ. You're a fucking tease." He clenched his fists. He sighed irritably, shaking his head and headed toward the door. "I don't know why I fucking bother with you, you know that?"

The door hissing open seemed rather loud compared to the silence that followed as Myles left the room in a flurry. Natalie let out a shaky sigh and dropped onto her bed. She picked up her book. The idea of a romance now seemed repulsive, so she let it fall back onto the sheets.

Grabbing her sweater that hung on her locker door, she threw it on.

To the mess.

* * *

When Natalie arrived at the mess she ordered herself a double of whisky on the rocks. The place was rather deserted, but she made herself comfortable on a stool by the bar. She wasn't familiar with the bartender this evening, but of course, he made a point to inquire about her neck. She had to tell that story again, and the reaction was just like the others.

"Here you are," she heard a familiar voice from behind her, and she turned, seeing John. He was wearing the standard issue grey t-shirt and sweatpants. The shirt appeared to be stretched across his body, hugging every curve of it. Natalie couldn't help but admire how attractive that was. He took the seat next to her. "You weren't hard to find."

She smiled.

"Only so many places I can be, sir."

"I suppose that's true."

"How was your day?"

"It was fine. Yours?"

"Uneventful. I hate Slipspace jumps. There's never anything to do, aside from work out and drink. Speaking of which, what would you like?"

"You're not paying for me again." John reached into his pants pocket, producing his own credit card. He caught the bartender's eye. "A beer, please."

"Start a tab," Natalie raised a brow. The bartender heard her as he removed the cap from the bottle of beer. He met John's eyes questioningly.

"A tab?"

John looked indecisive for a moment, but tucked his credit card back into his pocket.

"Sure."

"Not a problem." The bartender picked up a small handheld device, tapping the screen. It came to life. "Rank and name, please."

"Master Chief Petty Officer John-117."

"Got it. You're all set, sir." Formality sprung into the bartender's voice. His expression signified that he had put two and two together and realized that he had just served beer to a Spartan.

"Let's find a table," Natalie grabbed her drink and headed away from the bar. She picked a spot in the far corner, pulling out the closest chair and taking a seat. John could see a slight discomfort on her face.

"Didn't want him listening?" he was quick to speculate.

"Something like that," she admitted quietly. "He already asked me about my neck. I don't want to add more freight to the gossip train that chugs endlessly around this fucking ship – or the whole damned Corps, it seems."

"Did Lieutenant Coddington come by to see you earlier?"

The mention of Myles' name caused irritation to immediately appear on Natalie's face.

"As a matter of fact he did," she answered bitterly. "Came by saying he was acting on some friendly advice. Wait." She paused, her eyes locking on John's. "You…?"

She was quick to catch on.

"I ran into him at the gym earlier today. He was on the offensive. Somehow, he believes I had something to do with your hostility towards him. I simply suggested that he would benefit from taking it up with you, not me."

"That fucker! I would've smashed him across the face with a dumbbell if I had been there!" Natalie took a rather large sip from her drink, before setting it down heavily on the table. John noticed her hand was shaking. Her cheeks were beginning to flush red. "Just what did he say to you?"

"It doesn't matter," he replied calmly.

"Yes. It does." She reached for her glass again and tossed her head back, downing the rest of her drink with a grimace. _Just wait 'til I get a hold of that asshole._ She shot to her feet, but hadn't even taken a step away from the table when John's hand closed around her wrist in a blur.

She stopped, her eyes dropping to his hand before locking with his gaze. Her first reaction to him grabbing her caused her anger to surge even higher, but it dwindled upon looking into his face. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth barely downturned, but this alone portrayed enough emotion that she immediately realized she had made the wrong decision. His grip was gentle enough, but his fingers felt like steel. She knew that she wouldn't be taking another step if he didn't want her to.

"Calm down," John said, his voice serious. "And sit down."  
There were a few defiant seconds where Natalie remained standing, but at last, she dropped back into the chair, John releasing his grip.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, heaving a sigh. "I let my anger get the best of me sometimes."

"Well then stop. Nothing good comes of letting your emotions control you like that. In this war, that kind of behaviour will only get you or someone else killed. Trust me, I would know."  
"Speaking from experience?"

"Yes. I let my anger get the best of me once, just once. But that's all it took. I was fourteen, and I killed two ODSTs with my bare hands."

John watched Natalie's face blanch. She blinked a couple of times, staring at him as she absorbed his words. At last, she managed to react.

"…that was _you_?"

Ah, of course she had heard the story, John realized. Not many Marines han't. That incident was what planted the seed of prejudice and distain towards the Spartan program.

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Now, I will hold no bias against you if you choose to get up and leave, and never speak to me again."

Natalie remained quiet for a couple of seconds, contemplating. She twirled her glass, the remnants of ice tinkling in it.

"I won't judge you for something that happened years ago." She said at last. "We all make our mistakes, and I'm sure you have answered for yours. You don't have to worry about facing more scrutiny from me." She smiled.

"Well, I'm… surprised."

"Why?"

"I just expected you to be like everyone else."

"Now that would be an unfair assumption of character." She raised a brow, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. "Besides, I think you know well enough by now that that theory is bullshit. I need another drink. You have some catching up to do, Chief." She got to her feet, taking her glass.

"If I'm ever bound to catch up with you, we should be drinking the same thing."  
She let out a little laugh.

"Whisky it is."

They drank until last call. Natalie lost count of the drinks she had consumed. John had stayed on par with her the whole time, and if he was feeling worse than she was, he certainly wasn't showing it.

She was drunk. She realized before she got up from her chair, but moving had made it much more apparent.

"Oh fuck," she laughed as they approached the bar to pay for their tabs. "I'm _right_ fucked."

John was feeling the whisky as well. He didn't really like the sluggish effect that the alcohol had on his body. His reflexes were much slower, his movements less calculated. But, emotionally, he felt a strange giddiness that was unusual for him. His cheeks tingled, the muscles tugging at his lips to form a smile.

They paid their tabs and headed for the exit. Natalie led the way, her steps rather unsteady. When they made it out into the hall, Natalie stumbled. John of course, reached out and caught her, slipping his arm around her waist.

"Be careful," he said, looking down at her, a grin on his face. "You're still recovering from broken ribs, aren't you?"

"Fuck it." She waved her hand, slipping her arm around his body, leaning on him for support. Her head tucked in comfortably just into the crook of his armpit, barely reaching his chest. He didn't falter a bit under her weight. It was like leaning against a tree. "You should know by now I'm not graceful at all."

"Is that a trait required of a Marine?" He raised a brow.

She laughed, the sound ringing down the hall.

"I sure fucking hope not, or they enrolled the wrong girl!" She looked up at him. "Christ, you're tall."

John let out a chuckle.

"You're short."

"Hey!" She smacked him lightly on the chest. "I'm average."

"You're short to me."  
She looked up at him, shaking her head.

"I can't argue with you." Her voice slurred slightly. "Just as long as you keep me from falling, we're fine."  
"I've had much harder missions."

"I suppose you have." She brushed her hair back from her face. "I'm going to fucking regret this in the morning."

"I had a good time."

"No, not this. Just the drinking part. I had a good time too."

They had arrived at the intersection of hallways that lead to their rooms. John glanced down at Natalie, feeling all her weight leaning against him. Of course, to him, it felt like nothing, but he knew he should see to it that she got to her room fine.

"What is your room number?"

"714A." She replied. "Er, 714. A is my bunk space." They started walking down the hall. "Oh, no, John, you don't have to…"

"I'd be a terrible senior NCO if I let you go stumbling off on your own."

"Yes, yes I suppose. Why do I argue with you?"

"I don't know. You won't win."  
"Is that a challenge?"  
"714. Here we are." John stopped, staring at the door.

Natalie continued to lean on him, but he felt her nod against his chest.

"I had a really great time, John. I really enjoy spending time with you." Her grip around his torso tightened.

He looked down at her.

"Me too," he agreed.

She beckoned with her finger for him to come closer, a small smile on her face.

"Come here, I've got something to tell you."

John leaned down, then her hand wrapped around the back of his head, pulling his face even closer. Her lips pressed against his softly, lingering there for a few seconds, before she pulled back. For a second, John couldn't move, thrown off by the unexpected gesture. But he felt something strange overcoming him, something he hadn't felt before.

He felt her pulling him towards her again, and her lips touched his once more, this time with more ferocity. She grabbed his hand, pressing it to her breast. Her mouth tasted like whisky, her tongue felt slick and hot.

It was uncertain how much time passed in their drunken haze. Minutes, likely. When their lips finally parted, the two were at a loss for air. They both hungered for breaths about as intensely as they'd hungered for each other's lips seconds before.

Their eyes locked. Natalie could see a clear look of bewilderment on John's face, but there was something in his eyes that she recognized instantly. Desire.

She smiled.

"What's _your_ room number?"


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

Natalie shot up from the pillow with a start, staring at the data pad lying on the bedside table, which was making a steady beeping sound. Her head was pounding, her mouth felt like sandpaper. Within a couple blinks, she quickly remembered that the room wasn't hers. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw John lying next to her in a sound sleep. Their clothes were discarded sporadically all over the room. She could still feel the stickiness between her legs, and felt an aching throughout her body. She closed her eyes, her mind flooding with foggy memories from last night.

They'd fucked, but it had been sloppy, uncoordinated. He'd mentioned something of never doing it before, she recalled as she had straddled him, kissing her way down his chest. She glanced down at her naked body, noticing several fine bruises on her arms and legs – then remembered that John's strength had been a force to reckon with.

"Fuck," she whispered. The data pad was still beeping. She dragged her hands down her face, half-hoping that she could wipe away the hangover as well as the sleepiness. She knew without the aid of a mirror that her hair was a mess. Reaching up, she confirmed her speculations as she threaded her fingers through the matted tangles. She recalled John's grip on her hair as he had shoved her face into the pillow. She held back the will to curse again. Just what exactly had she gotten herself into?

She glanced back at him, still out cold. His face appeared peaceful for once, his muscles relaxed. God, he was handsome. She let her eyes trail down his body to his abs, his penis – although now flaccid, still was impressively large. A small smirk crossed her lips as the realization dawned on her for the first time in a sober state: _I fucked a Spartan_. And apparently taken his virginity, she reminded herself. It couldn't be! Were Spartans completely void of any sexual relationships? She found that hard to believe. Well, this one wasn't anymore, at least.

Natalie turned away from him, letting out a little laugh. That fucking data pad was still beeping – and of curiosity, she picked it up. The time read 0945. She'd missed breakfast. There was a text message from a Dr. Halsey – the source of the incessant racket. Out of curiosity, she tapped the screen.

" _John. Where are you? Come see me immediately once you have gotten suited up. We expect to arrive at the Lacertae system in the next half hour. You'll be one of the first to deploy."_

Natalie re-read the message again, her heart beginning to pound. Lacertae? Deploy?

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" She spun around, nearly dropping the data pad. She reached out and gave John a shake. He started, and woke immediately, looking alarmed. At first, he seemed utterly surprised to see her, but his eyes went down his naked body then to hers and something seemed to mentally click.

"Get up! We're on the move! Read this!" She tossed the data pad at him then began scrambling for her clothes.

She watched as John read the message, and his expression immediately filled with alarm and disbelief.

"Shit." He was out of bed in a blur and began pulling on a fresh uniform. He avoided eye contact with her as he got dressed. "Did you hear anything over the…"

"Not a thing. We must have slept through it." Natalie felt dread sweeping through her. She was going to be in so much shit. Her hands trembled as she pulled on her t-shirt. "Oh fuck." She threw her sweater under her arm and jammed her feet into her shoes, then rushed for the door. For a second, she met his eyes. "I-I'm sorry."

She flew from his room and sprinted down the hall as fast as her feet would take her.

* * *

'Ktao 'Kolsamee watched from afar as the human girl left the Demon's room in a hurry. Interestingly enough, it was the same one he could've, _should've_ killed during the ship's invasion just the other day. So far, his stealth mission had been going well. He remained hidden for the most of the day to avoid detection. He'd gathered enough information about the Demon that he knew that he was in fact, human. He knew his schedule, his patterns, and now, his apparent mate, or at least his person of sexual preference.

The ship had exited Slipspace and would soon the troops, including the Demon, would be deploying in an attempt to defend Lacerta from Covenant attack. 'Kolsamee knew that _The Domination_ would be one of the ships participating in the destruction of the planet.

It seemed even the Demon was prone to sleeping in.

'Kolsamee tapped his headset, whispering in his Sangheili tongue:

"Shipmaster, this is 'Kolsamee."

"Ah, 'Kolsamee." 'Malnoonee's voice came through a second later. "I was wondering when I would hear from you. So is the ship on route?"

"Indeed. I am very happy to inform you I have gathered some very useful information about the Demon." 'Kolsamee paused. "It is not machine, but a human male. He sleeps, he eats, he engages in coital activities…"

"How interesting. With a female?"

"Yes. A Marine. It seems they are developing some kind of a bond."

"That might prove to be to your advantage. Well done."

"How is the destruction going?"

"Humans make me laugh. Their efforts are mostly pathetic. Their ships are being destroyed as expected. The forces on the ground, however, are seeing bit more resistance. There are more of _them_."

"Like the Demon?" 'Kolsamee felt stunned. "How many?"

"Two have been sighted, and that is more than enough. They are slaughtering our troops with the force of a thousand Marines."

"Then why let this one join the fight?!" 'Kolsamee snarled. "I can kill him right now, he is completely unsuspecting…"

"No. Your mission isn't finished. Get off the ship on Lacerta. Blend in, participate in the fight, but observe his tactics. I want you to find the Demon's weakness, and use it against him. When the time is right, I will let you kill him and anyone else who dare stand in your way."

* * *

John had suited up in his armour, save for his helmet, which he held under his arm. He found himself standing in front of Dr. Halsey's office door.

His head was pounding, and for once, his thoughts were clouded. He couldn't help but going back to the night before, trying to process just what exactly had happened. He hadn't had time for a shower. He could still smell Natalie on him. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the taste of her lips, the touch of her bare skin against his, how surprisingly pleasurable it had been to…

The door opened, and Dr. Halsey almost walked into him. She let out a little gasp, her coffee sloshing precariously near to the brim of her mug. She met his eyes, and let out a small sigh. She took a step to the side, and gestured for him to enter.

"I was just heading to the bridge to inform Captain Thomsen to call you over the intercom directly. He was my last resort, as I didn't exactly want him to know that my Spartan went MIA onboard a ship." Irritation could be heard overflowing in her voice. She crossed over to her desk, setting down her coffee, taking a deep breath. She waited until the door hissed shut behind him. "Just where in the hell were you!? This is completely unlike your character, John!"

She studied him. John, especially in his MJOLNIR armour, seemed to fill her small office. He stood rigidly in front of her. His colour, although naturally fair, seemed paler than usual. Purple bags were visible under his eyes.

"You have my sincerest apologies, ma'am." He replied briskly. "I slept sound and failed to hear the announcement over the intercom."

This explanation did nothing to soften Halsey's expression of disbelief. When he spoke, she was close enough to him to smell a whiff of alcohol off his breath. Whiskey, to be exact.

"You were drinking. Heavily, by the smell of you."

She watched John's features harden. He fixed his gaze somewhere on the wall past her.

"Yes, ma'am."

A million questions ran through Halsey's head. _Why? Did you not think to pace yourself?_ Well, to her knowledge this was the first case of one of her Spartans ever consuming alcohol. How would he know the effects it would have on him? Surely he had begun to feel strange after a glass or two. _Was Private Klein involved?_ She must've been.

As pestilent as the questions were, she knew there wasn't time to ask them - at least not now. She glanced to the clock on the wall. They would be arriving at the planet soon.

"Please tell me you are sober. When was your last drink?" She hoped he had got enough sleep for it to wear off. She couldn't imagine trying to send him into battle while he was still drunk. She'd have a hell of a time trying to explain that to the Top Brass. To the right person, that would be enough to warrant the effectiveness of the Spartan program altogether. She could just hear them now. _'What fucking good are your damned super soldiers if they just resort to partying like the common Jarhead?'_ Good God.

"Around 2300 hours, ma'am. I am fine." John wasn't about to mention the headache.

"Good. Do not," she said quietly, closing her eyes. "I repeat, do not let this happen ever again."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You may go, John."

The Spartan turned and left in a blur. Baffled, Halsey dropped into her chair and sighed deeply.

* * *

Natalie jogged into the docking bay, fully kitted out and rifle in hand. She had been as quick as she possibly could, but late was late. Her heart still pounded in her chest. She was just waiting for the shit storm to hit. Various troops gave her curious looks as she hurried through the crowd, looking for her squad. All it would take was for one higher ranking officer to notice. She just hoped it wouldn't be Myles.

She found her squad, and Amy was one of the first ones to notice her arrival. As she stealthily merged into the group, her friend gaped at her with wide eyes, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Where the fuck were you?" she whispered.

Natalie, still trying to get her breath, simply shook her head.

"Klein!" Her name rang out through the docking bay.

She cringed. It was Myles. She pivoted, and saw he had appeared out of the crowd. The look on his face was completely malicious.

"Get the _fuck_ over here. Right now!" he bellowed.

Natalie felt all eyes fall on her, and heat began to rush to her cheeks. The docking bay grew silent as she walked over to Myles.

"Sir."

"Put your fucking heels together, Private!" She felt his spit land on her face. Sharply, she came to attention, her heel strike echoing loud across the room.

"Sir!" She repeated, her voice croaking. She fixed her gaze somewhere past him. She didn't want to see his face.

"Where in the fuck were you?!"

"I slept in, sir."

"Slept in?" Myles raised a brow. He looked past her. "Private Smythe!"

"Sir!"

"Come here."

"Yessir!" Natalie could hear her friend's footsteps as she quickly jogged up to them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just see Amy as she came to attention.

"Private Klein is saying she slept in. Is she not your bunk mate?"  
"She is, sir."

"So are you telling me that you did not make sure that she was awake and functioning when you left the room this morning?"

A few seconds of silence. Natalie closed her eyes. _Fuck_.

"She wasn't in her bunk when I woke up this morning, sir." Amy finally said, her voice growing quieter. Natalie knew what her expression would be without having to look.

"No?" Myles sounded intrigued. "And was she in her bunk when you went to sleep last night, Smythe?"  
"No, sir."

"Thank you, Smythe. That'll be all."

"So you weren't in your fucking bunk last night, but you said you…" Myles trailed off as the sound of the nearest door hissing open caught his attention. She turned to look at the same time as he did. Clad in his MJOLNIR armour, John entered the docking bay.

Natalie felt her stomach flip, her breath hitching in her chest. She knew that Myles would put two and two together. She heard him let out a scoff of disbelief and she forced herself to meet his eyes. The expression his face was one of utter disgust. His lip curled in a sarcastic sneer, and he made sure what he said next could only fall on her ears.

"I hope he was worth it."

The words stung.

"You are to be charged with AWOL," he continued, his voice resuming its normal volume. "I unfortunately can't decide your punishment, but given the circumstances, you can expect them to be rather severe. I will take care of filing the report once we are completed this mission."

She could feel rage welling within her. Her lip quivered. She clenched her fists so tightly that her fingernails dug into her skin. Oddly enough, she remembered John's advice from last night – to not let her emotions control her. She released her fists, exhaling quietly.

"Yes, sir." It was barely a whisper.

"Dismissed!" This was a yell. She numbly saluted him before turning and heading back to her squad. She avoided looking at their faces, coming to stand silently beside Amy. She felt like there was a heavy weight on her chest, compressing her lungs.

"I'm so sorry, Nat," Amy whispered. "He worded it just so…"

"It's not your fault. It's mine. I slept in. I'm late, and I'm to be punished accordingly." She paused, eyeing Amy's curious face. "I'm being charged with AWOL once this is all over."

"Eh, don't worry about it, kid." Carter shrugged, overhearing her. "Happened to me once. Ain't no fuckin' big deal. One of the most common charges out there, I'd say. They usually slap ya with a monetary fine and some extra duties."

Natalie nodded. She suddenly felt a wicked craving for nicotine, and her hand instinctively went to her pants pocket, feeling the outline of the tobacco can. Just as she touched it, she realized she'd have to wait, for she had nowhere to spit. She let out a curse beneath her breath.

Meeting Amy's eyes, her friend gestured for her to follow a few steps away from the rest of the squad. With a sigh, Natalie followed. When they were a safe hearing distance from everyone else, Amy started.

"Okay, so… what the fuck?" She still looked shocked. "I thought you went to Myles' last night, but apparently not given the fact he's charging you."

Natalie shook her head. A part of her didn't want to divulge anything, but Amy was her best friend, and at the moment would likely be the only sympathetic ear she would find.

"I made a few bad decisions. Getting drunk at the mess last night was the first one," she explained. "I… I fucked up. Clearly. Well, maybe the whole night wasn't a fuck up. It was rather good, from what I can remember… but that's beside the point."

"The fuck did you do?" Amy demanded. "Or, should I be asking _who_ did you do?"

Natalie looked over her shoulder, spotting John talking to several officers. She gestured with her head ever so subtly.

Amy's mouth fell open – and she remained like this for several seconds.

"What!? No!" She shook her head. "Okay. Just let me fucking process this for a couple of seconds. That's why he was late too?" She watched Natalie nod. "Oh my sweet dying Jesus Christ. I was right. I knew it. I fucking called it." She paused thoughtfully. "How in the fuck did you manage to do that?"

"Quite a few glasses of whiskey and mutual desire, I guess." Natalie kept her voice low. "I was smashed out of my tree, and you know what I'm like when I drink."

"The combination of no fucks to be given and the sexual libido of a man, yes I do." Amy let out a laugh. "You fucking savage. What was it like?"

"Truthfully? Sloppy and kind of awkward. But we were both too drunk to care."

"What are you saying? He's never fucked anyone before?" Amy raised a brow.

"I don't even think he'd kissed anyone before me!"

"Really? Is that because he's a Spartan, do you think? He comes off as a bit socially backward."

"It's fucked up to say, but I don't think he's known anything but a battlefield his whole life. The way he talks about it… well, he doesn't even talk about it that much. I think I only know so much about him because alcohol helped with that."  
"Hah. No kidding. I'd say you know him quite well now. At least the parts that matter."

"Don't fucking say things like that. About Myles, sure, but not about John." As soon as she said it, she watched Amy's expression change. Her eyes widened, a small smile spreading on her thin lips.

"Hold up. You actually like him, don't you?"

"No, well, no not like that. He's…"

"Not convinced. Not entirely impressed, either. I thought you had the whole 'catching feelings' thing under control. God, I hate you when you fall in love! I remember the high school days with Myles. You get so fuckin' day-dreamy. That kinda shit will get you shot out there."

"Whoa now, who said anything about love?" Natalie looked disgusted.

"Me. You best watch yourself. What happens to here," she pointed to her crotch, "shouldn't control what goes on here." She placed her hand on her heart. "It fucks you up."

"It was just one drunken night! That's a long way from a happily ever after! I doubt he remembers it all! And it's better if he doesn't, because I'm not looking forward to facing him again. Peeling my clothes off his bedroom floor this morning and running off was more than enough to fill my shame quota for the next fucking decade."

"So, did Myles clue in to what went down?"

"Of course he fucking did."

"Oh shit. I'm surprised he doesn't march over and charge Chief too."

"Keep your fucking voice down!"

"Sorry. It's not every day I hear news like this. So what do you think'll happen? Think it might become a regular…"

"We have to get through this mission before I can even start worrying about that."

"I suppose, huh. Well, just don't get shot or blown up, and your adventures can continue. I dunno about you, but I'm really curious to see how this plays out."

"I know how it will fucking play out. Want to be an escort for my summary trial?" Natalie sounded bitter. "

Amy shrugged, not looking really opposed.

"Eh, but think about it, if Myles is there do you really think I'd keep my fucking mouth shut?"

"You did a pretty good job of being subordinate just a few minutes ago."

"I'm a terrible liar, Nat. He backed me into a corner." Amy spotted Myles in the crowd, standing next to their platoon sergeant, Philips. He looked pissed, his face crumpled into a scowl. "So, you and Codfish are finally kaput, eh."

"If we weren't, we certainly are now," Natalie sounded grim.

"Fuck him. You've moved onto greener pastures." Amy let out a snort, her eyes searching for John. She gave Natalie a nudge with her elbow. " _Greener_ pastures. Get it?"

"That is the worst fucking joke…"

Amy started laughing hysterically anyway

"Alright, Private Giggles, shut the fuck up!" Myles bellowed, singling her out. He hadn't heard anything she had said prior, but her morale was enough excuse for him to come down on her. His booming voice caught the attention of anyone near. He tapped the top of his head. "1st Platoon, on me. Form up, three ranks. Move it!"

There was a frantic rush as the squads moved together, filing into three neat ranks. Further down the docking bay, the other platoons were assembling in similar fashion. Natalie found herself in the front rank, with Amy behind her. To her left was Ellis. He smirked at her.

"Trouble in paradise?" he whispered.

"Fuck off." She shot him a glare.

"Steady up!" Sergeant Philips bellowed. "1st Platoon, atten- _hut_!"

There was a synchronized falling off boots on the floor plates as the drill was carried out. Sergeant Philips pivoted to greet Myles with a salute, before leaving the platoon to his command and marching to the rear of the formation.

Being in the front rank, Natalie couldn't help but notice John, standing several paces behind Myles, still as a statue, face hidden behind that faceless visor. Seeing him just made her heartbeat quicken.

"1st Platoon, stand at ease!" Myles bellowed, then followed more softly with, "Stand easy."

There were assorted sighs as the Marines relaxed.

"As you are aware, the colony of Lacerta is under Covenant invasion. Our job, of course, is to try to defend it. We're looking at a situation that's not much different than before. We will be one of the first ships of the fleet to arrive, so you can expect fairly heavy resistance. The objective is to push back the Covenant forces on the ground and assist in civilian evacuations, while our ships take on the Covenant from the air and hopefully destroy enough of them to keep them from glassing the planet in its entirety. I'm not saying it's going to be easy out there. Because it's not. But we didn't join the Corps because we wanted it easy. We joined the Corps to fucking kick some Covenant ass." He paused to allow a platoon-wide _ooh-rah!_ "Now, we can expect some additional help once we're topside. I was just recently informed that we will be so fortunate to have two more Spartans like Master Chief here," he gestured to John with his thumb, "aiding in the fight. Yeah. That's right. Not a guaranteed win even then, but it never hurts to have something to boost morale." Myles turned, looking at John. "That's one of the things you're good at, right? Boosting morale of my troops?"

Upon hearing this, Natalie felt her cheeks flush with anger. _That fucking asshole!_ She looked to John, who moved his head ever so slightly in the Lieutenant's direction. In the two second window Myles left for him to agree, there was dead silence from both the Spartan and the platoon. Further down the docking bay, the voices of the other platoon commanders echoed their way.

Myles, realizing he wasn't going to get a response, turned back to his marines. His gaze momentarily met Natalie's, and lingered there for a second longer than he'd give anyone else. She was almost sure she caught him smirk.

"I want to see your best out there, Marines!" he continued. "Make me proud!"

A unified "Sir, yes, sir!" rang out in response.

"Squad leaders, you were given your assigned Pelican numbers. Everyone knows where they gotta be and what they gotta do? Excellent. Let's move!" Myles clapped his hands, and in a scramble, the three ranks disbanded.

Immediately, Natalie lingered back to fall in step with Myles. He looked down at her in surprise.

"You've more than made your point, sir," she said lowly through clenched teeth.

"Oh no, I haven't." Myles flashed a false smile. "My fun is just beginning."

Natalie stopped, glaring at him as he continued on.

"Remember, you salute the rank, not the man."

She turned, and saw John had come up behind her. Her heart jumped. She stared into his visor, thankful that she couldn't see his face. She opened her mouth, but shut it, at a loss for words. She watched as he raised one finger to his visor, and drew an upward curve where his mouth would be.

A smile of some kind? She didn't get to ask. Someone called for him:

"Master Chief!"

His attention left her as he turned to answer. Quickly, she tore her gaze away from him and hurried for her Pelican.


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

Dr. Halsey sat in her office, scrolling through her laptop. Her black hair was swept up into a high ponytail, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her brow was furrowed in thought. For the duration of her stay onboard the _Hercules_ , she had been provided with access to various information systems. Right now, she was looking for the ship's security video logs.

Without notice, Keira's face appeared in the lower left hand corner of the screen.

"Can I help you with something, Doctor?"

Halsey startled, her elbow bumping against her coffee mug. A bit sloshed over the side onto the desk. Quickly, Halsey wiped it up with her lab coat sleeve – she'd been meaning to throw her coat in the laundry, anyway.

"Shit. Keira! You surprised me. It's so quiet here. I'm trying to locate the ship's security camera logs."

"Just give me a moment." Halsey watched as the AI navigated through her laptop, bringing her in seconds to the files she wanted to see. "Here we are. Any specific date or time stamp?"

There were hundreds of logs.

"Yes. Last night around 2300 hours…" Halsey scanned all the camera locations. "Try the junior NCO's quarters."

"Got it." The video selection narrowed, but there were still about twenty or so. "You're viewing all the live feeds, starting at 2300, at 2x fast forward. Do you know what you are looking for?"

"Yes." Halsey's eyes scanned the video screens. For the most part, the halls of the junior NCO's quarters were empty, save for a person or two heading to the bathroom or back. Then, she spotted him. "That one." She pointed. "Camera 3. Top right hand corner. Reduce to normal playback speed."

The screen filled with that singular video. John was walking down the hall, his arm wrapped supportively around a female's shoulders. Halsey squinted. It was Private Klein. They appeared to be in good cheer, if not a bit drunk. They came to stop outside of what Halsey could only guess to be Klein's quarters. Klein ushered John closer to her, then placed her lips over his. Halsey could only stare in disbelief.

 _Of course_. She felt a strange feeling wash over her. To her knowledge, this was the first ever case of one of her Spartan II's expressing any kind of passionate interest in anyone, Spartan or otherwise. A well-known and assumed - yet never proved - side effect of the Spartan augmentations was the repression of their sexual drive. They were also well trained in pushing aside human emotion and operating strictly from a logical point of view. In other words, romantic or lustful relationships of any kind weren't thought to be a part of any Spartan's agenda, let alone to even cross their minds.

But apparently for John, this was not the case.

The kiss ended, and Halsey watched as Klein ushered John away, out of frame, away from her room. Where else could they be headed? Halsey's heartbeat quickened, her mind buzzing through the options.

"Quickly, switch to the senior NCO's quarters, same time frame." Her voice sounded nervous. About twenty or so individual video logs appeared once more, and it took seconds before she selected the right one. Within less than a minute, John and Klein came into view and walked directly into John's room, closing the door behind them. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Halsey closed her eyes, heaving a sigh as she massaged her temples with her hands. John might not have been aware of what lie ahead of him, but Klein definitely did. It hadn't taken the Doctor long to uncover the terribly-kept secret of Klein's sexual relationship with Lieutenant Myles Coddington. This added to her questions. Where was this girl's morals? She was only nineteen. She had met John days before. He was a senior rank, he was a Spartan. Maybe her reasons for being so kind to John pointed to this exact moment. Had she simply wanted to sleep with him from the start?

Lifestyle in the Marine Corps was stressful and harsh. Death and defeat were all around, and Halsey knew the Marines relied heavily on several comforts: alcohol, nicotine and sex. Gambling and recreational drug use were also not unknown, either, although those activities occurred more secretively. Women who joined this world quickly had to adapt, or else they didn't last long. They had to compete against the men, and train twice as hard. Physical training was not gender subjective, and hadn't been for hundreds of years. The women were expected to march just as far, carry just as much and shoot just as well as the men. If they didn't, they were a liability and were phased out fast. They were pressured to act like their peers. They too fell to the comforts of alcohol, cigarettes and sex, when it was available. They swore just as much as the men, laughed at and made their own vulgar jokes. It was simply the lifestyle. Either you could mold to it, or you couldn't.

It seemed rather clear to Halsey that Private Klein had blended in almost seamlessly with the rest of the Corps. But what was her objective when it came to John? She had been drunk in this case and obviously found him attractive.

Maybe Halsey was being quick to judge, maybe she would emerge from John's room any moment, having just said goodnight to him.

She waited. And waited. Nothing.

"Fast forward to the morning, please, Keira. 0930-1030."

The film zipped ahead, then stopped. She fixated her eyes on that door, her chest feeling tight. Finally, it hissed open, and Private Klein emerged, looking rather disheveled and panicked, her sweater under her arm. She hurried off down the hall. Not five minutes later, John emerged, heading in the opposite direction.

That's why he was late.

Halsey leaned back in her chair, sighing once more, staring at the video long after John had disappeared from the frame. Disbelief was written all over her face.

"Doctor? Is that all?" Keira inquired.

"Yes. I've seen all I need to see."

* * *

It was a bumpy ride into Lacerta's atmosphere. The Pelican was packed, jammed full with two squads. The Marines sat quietly, being jostled occasionally by turbulence. The interior was lit only by red light, making it rather dark.

Natalie found herself seated between Amy and Carter. Her lip bulged with a wad of tobacco, and she spit occasionally on the floorplates. Myles happened to be sitting almost directly across from her, although so far he had avoided making eye contact. His expression looked rather miserable. If he hadn't been enjoying some tobacco himself, she imagined he would have already had something to say about her spitting.

With each lurch the Pelican made, she felt her stomach churn uncomfortably, likely due to having not eaten anything. _If I puke_ , she thought, _I'm aiming as close as I can to Myles' boots_. The idea of it made her smirk.

She glanced up to towards the hatchway door, which still remained closed. John stood there, almost motionless. Although there was an empty seat designated for him, so far he had refused to take it. He had one hand on the bulkhead to steady himself when the Pelican rattled its way through a turbulent air pocket.

The Pelican made a quick drop, and Natalie felt her stomach contract. She pressed her fist to her mouth, closing her eyes for a moment to try to will away the nausea.

"We've reached a safe cruising altitude. Opening the back hatch," the pilot announced.

The hatch slowly swung open, allowing in a flood of light and fresh air. It seemed to instantly soothe Natalie's stomach. She squinted, taking in the view. In the distance, a turquoise ocean glimmered in the sunlight. Lush green forests lay below, with rivers snaking through them. The city, she guessed, must be ahead. It looked peaceful. No Covenant carriers, no glow of flames in the distance, no smell of smoke. Not yet, at least.

John took a step forward, peering down out of the hatch. He took notice of a flock of birds, swirling their way through the trees, their movement appearing panicked, threatened. Surely it wasn't their Pelican disturbing them…

A familiar sound tore through his ears – plasma fire. Not a second later, an explosion shook the entire Pelican. Instantly, it lurched sickeningly to one side. Those who weren't strapped into their seats were thrown to the floorplates, Natalie included. An alarm from within the cockpit began to scream. Chaos erupted from the Marines, fear spreading like wildfire.

"Banshee!" The pilot cried. "He got us fuckin' good! I'm losing the starboard engine!"

Quickly losing altitude, the Pelican's engines roared as the pilot tried to keep her level. They were gaining speed. Natalie struggled to pull herself up off the floor, but gravity began to fight against her, her limbs feeling heavy. Panic was erupting all around her.

"Can we jump?" someone demanded.

"Not unless you want to die!"

The starboard engine began to whine, competing against the shrill beeping of the alarm. It sputtered once, twice, before choking out completely. Dropping quickly, the Pelican began to spiral. From her spot on the floorplates, Natalie looked out the back hatch, seeing a blur of clouds, blue sky and the smoke billowing from the engines.

"Close the back hatch!" Myles screamed to the pilot.

"I'm trying! The hydraulics aren't responding… I'm losing all control! Strap yourselves in. Prepare for a crash landing! We're going in hard!"

The Pelican's tail collided with a tree, jarring all those inside. For a second, Natalie was airborne, before crashing back down onto the floorplates. Uncontrollably, she slid backward toward the open hatch. The interior rushed past her, then disappeared out from under her altogether. She opened her mouth, letting out a shrill scream. At that very second, a hand closed around her wrist, jerking her body to a stop. Her arm felt like it was about to be pulled from her socket. Behind her, the world was spinning as the Pelican continued to plummet.

John had one hand on the hatch, the other clamped onto Natalie's wrist. Gravity was against them. The muscles in his arm began to burn under the strain, his boots were slipping on the floorplates.

"Somebody fucking help him, dammit!" someone screamed.

"I can't fucking move!"

John weighed his options, thinking quickly. He wasn't going to let her go, and even if he did, there was no chance that he wouldn't fall out right after her. Taking a deep breath, he released his grip on the hatch.

At once, John pulled Natalie to him, holding her tight against his body. The terrified screams of the Marines in the Pelican quickly disappeared they plummeted. She screamed against his chest plate as they crashed through the forest canopy. Branches raked and clawed at them, some snapping underneath their weight.

The forest floor came rushing up to meet them. John landed feet first. Pain instantly shot through his legs, and he collapsed, dropping Natalie. They both landed onto the ground with a groan.

Her own panicked breaths were loud in her ears. For a moment she didn't move. In the distance, birds twittered. She could just see the sky through the trees. Leaves were still fluttering down around them. She could feel all of her limbs. Felt no excruciating pain. _I should be dead_.

She sat up. She knew without checking, the wetness she felt on her face was blood. Looking over, she saw John lying motionless next to her. His head was turned slightly in her direction.

"John," she spoke, her voice trembling. She crawled over to him. "John!"

His head turned, and then he pushed himself up off the ground. She could only stare in disbelief as he got to his feet.

"What the fuck!?" she cried. "You should be dead. I should be dead. We both should be fucking dead!" The last sentence was almost a scream. She felt tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm fine." He extended his hand out to her. She took it, and he helped her to her feet. Her knees felt wobbly. She looked around, taking a couple of unsteady steps.

"My rifle…"

"It's gone. Use your sidearm for now." John sounded so calm.

She turned, staring up into his mirrored visor. She could see her reflection. Blood was running down her face from a scratch on her cheek. There was also a cut on her lip. As if John was reading her mind, he reached up and gently touched her chin, turning her face to one side to examine her injuries.

"You'll be fine, too. You likely have a mild case of shock. Take a moment to orient yourself, then we have to find our Pelican, look for survivors."

 _Survivors_. The word gave her chills. She thought of Amy, Myles. Numbly, she gave John a nod.

"I'll be okay. Let's move."

* * *

When the Pelican crashed, no one was killed. But those who hadn't managed to get strapped into their seats before the landing had been badly tossed around. One marine fractured his wrist, another his arm. Those who were strapped into their seats suffered only bruising and discomfort.

Slowly, the marines climbed out of the back hatch of the Pelican. The nose of the dropship had dug itself fairly deep into the ground upon impact. One of the wings were completely gone, lost to a tree branch. Smoke billowed into the sky from the engine as flames licked into the air. The windshield had smashed. The pilot had the worst of it – he was the last to be helped out, his face wet with blood, the glass having cut his face and neck.

Amy pushed her way through the troops, looking for Myles. She felt sick to her stomach, still in shock. A piece of glass that had flown back from the cockpit had cut her face. She could feel the blood beginning to dry on her cheek. She could still see the image in her head of John and Natalie disappearing out the hatch, gone in a second.

She found Myles, standing motionless a few feet away from the group. His helmet was in his hand, dangling from his fingers by the straps. He was staring back in the direction they had come, a dazed look on his face.

Her lip quivered, anger building up inside of her. Tears were welling in her eyes. She reached out and touched his shoulder. When he turned, her fist made contact with his face. The impact seemed awfully loud, and her scream louder:

"YOU FUCKER!"

Immediately, everyone was staring at them. Murmurs of disbelief and gasps of surprise could be heard, but all at once fell silent, waiting for the fallout. Myles was stunned. He took a moment to absorb what happened, he turned back to face Amy, blood running down from his lip.

"That was for Natalie!" Amy screamed. "I hope you feel real fucking good, treating her like that! She was our friend, Myles! We grew up together, for fuck's sake!" Tears started to roll down her face. "And… now she's dead!" Her voice broke, and she turned away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth in an attempt to smother the sobs that threatened to come.

Myles stood motionless, feeling the blood running down his lip. He could feel everyone staring at him, waiting for him to react. He felt sick, and realized Amy was right. He tried to remember the last words he had spoken to Natalie. He'd been cruel, spiteful – just because he could, just because she'd been with that Spartan, and he couldn't have her. Now, no one could have her. He opened his mouth, but shut it, unable to think of appropriate words. He wiped the blood from his lip, smearing it across his face.

"I don't fucking believe it!" Someone shouted.

Myles turned, and saw the Spartan and Natalie emerging from the treeline. Upon seeing Amy, Natalie rushed forward, meeting her friend halfway with a hug. Amy's face was white with disbelief.

"How in the fuck!? You're okay!" Amy blinked away tears, wiping at her face. She looked Natalie up and down. Save for a couple of scratches on her face and neck, she appeared to be unharmed.

The troops gathered around her, in equal awe. Comments buzzed about the miracle of her survival, but when John joined the group, the mystery behind it seemed to wither away. Another capability of the Spartans was unveiled – the ability to fall great distances and speed, apparently without being injured or killed.

Myles stood rooted in his spot, his lip pulsing painfully with each passing second. So, Natalie wasn't dead. He felt relief – the guilt that had beginning to plague him slowly began to melt away. But here he was, with a bloody mouth, no thanks to a Private. They had been childhood friends, yes; Amy had been emotional thinking her friend was dead, yes; but did that make it okay to punch him as she had? In front of everyone who had been onboard their Pelican? No.

He stared at Natalie and Amy in their happy reunion. Smiling, Amy laughing. At once, however, she turned and met his gaze, sudden dread spreading across her features. Natalie followed her gaze, and he watched her expression alter upon seeing the blood on his face.

"LT," Amy started towards him. Curiously, Natalie followed.

"Amy, did you…"

"Punch me? Yes she did," Myles finished, glowering down at them both. "It's a chargeable offense, striking an officer."

"I know. I apologize. I thought she was…"

"Unfortunately for you, she's very much alive. Although I don't quite understand how." Myles met Natalie's eyes briefly. "You have both succeeded in being administrative burdens for me if we ever get off this planet. Now, I have not one but two conduct reports and charge parades to organize. You both need to get your fucking emotions in line and start thinking like Marines."

"Yes, sir," Amy replied. Natalie simply nodded. She still felt dazed. The last fifteen minutes of her life had been a surreal blur. The girls watched as Myles turned and stalked off. Sergeant Philips quickly hurried after him, no doubt as to inquire about what had happened.

Natalie met Amy's eyes.

"You fucking idiot," she said quietly.

"Now you're not alone," Amy smirked. She wiped self-consciously at her cheek again, which was still shining with tears. "He deserved it, whether you were fucking dead or not." She sniffled. "Broke my record, bitch. I haven't cried since I had to say goodbye to Wayne when I was going off to boot camp."

"Alright, listen up!" It was Myles. "Now that our last two passengers of the Pelican have miraculously appeared, that means we won't have to go scouring the forest for their bodies." He paused, finding both the Spartan and Natalie in the crowd. "Our bird is down, but our objective hasn't changed. According to the pilot, we only have about a mile or two to go and we'll reach our original DZ. Should only take us about twenty minutes. Keep alert. Loose file formation. Let's move!" He paused for a moment. "Master Chief – I want you with me and Philips."

There was a shuffle as the squads organized. 1 squad stepped off first. Those in platoon HQ, Coddington, Philips, as well as John, followed along behind. 2 squad filed in after them.

The forest was humid and lush. Sunlight glittered through the canopy. Tropical birds serenaded them as they walked. Dry dead leaves crunched underfoot – normally a concern, but if any Covenant were nearby, they would have already been alerted to their position due to the crash.

"So, how did you do it?" Myles spoke, his voice low. He glanced back to Master Chief.

John thought a moment about not answering. He didn't like talking on patrol. But little murmurs of conversation could be heard both ahead and behind him. He wouldn't be the one breaking the silence.

"My armour allows me to be able to fall great distances without injury. It absorbs most of the impact."

"Hmf. Must be nice."

"Two less deaths on your watch, Lieutenant. I would say so."

Myles glanced back at him again, letting out a scoff, grinning. His lip had fattened quite noticeably. John suspected it was from the crash. He still had dried blood on his chin.

"Ah man, you're fuckin' quick with the retorts." The smile faded. "On second thought, instead of marching along with me, wouldn't a super soldier like yourself be better off tailing our formation, making sure no Covenant are on our arse?" He didn't wait for a reply, gesturing back with his thumb. "Get the fuck out there. Now."

John wordlessly fell back out of formation, and hurried back toward the rear. Myles met Philips' eyes.

"Sassy fucker, ain't he?" Philips remarked.

"Not very punctual, either."

"I noticed. For all the praise the Spartans receive, this one is living up to the negative rumours. Just a little arrogant, it seems. Showing up when he likes, talking to you how he feels..."

"Yeah, don't even fuckin' get me started. I've got enough to charge him if I didn't think it would be a war in itself. They're protected, the Spartans. Remember the story about the Spartan that killed the ODST years ago? What happened to him, I wonder? Not a fuckin' thing. If I tried to charge Master Chief, I'd get nowhere. Even though he's getting drunk, fuckin' Privates and showing up late; disrespecting me every time I turn around…"

"Wait, what?"

Myles nodded, grinning. "Oh yeah. If he and Klein hadn't survived that fall, it wouldn't have been much of a fuckin' loss."

He watched surprise flash across the Sergeant's face for a moment, but he said nothing. Onward, they marched.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI**

When the Marines arrived at their camp, it was in disarray. People were bustling. Wounded men and women, Marines and civilians alike, were lined up outside of the field hospital, waiting to see a MO. Some were lying on stretchers, groaning and bloody, clutching at wounds covered in makeshift bandages, tourniquets or sloppily-applied bio foam. Others sat motionless, eyes dull with the thousand-yard stare, in shock. Inside the tent, frantic orders could be heard, requesting the passing of specific tools as they operated on a wounded man, whose screams of pain could be heard echoing across the camp. They were low on morphine, Natalie overheard. The Pelican delivering the supply had been shot down.

In the distance, the city skyline could be seen through the trees. The horizon was aglow – flames. Silhouettes of Covenant cruisers could be seen, purple flashes of plasma emanating from them as they glassed the ground beneath them.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Natalie felt dread flow through her. It was the same – she'd seen it all before. She recalled the calm serenity that they had witnessed on the flight in. The peaceful forests, the turquoise ocean in the distance – it all made for a terrible contrast with this. Chaos. Death. Fear. She could smell blood in the air.

Marines hurried all around them, Warthogs entered and left the camp, kicking up mud as they did. Troops coming in, troops heading out – rotation of squads. They also brought the injured or straggler evacuees. Everyone looked weary, defeated.

Natalie turned, meeting Amy's eyes. She shook her head, looking grim.

"You wonder why they bother sending us."

"I know." Natalie looked around. Out of the crowd, she spotted John, his gaze fixated on something. She quickly noticed who – two more Spartans approached him. Their armour looked identical to his, although they both were shorter than he was. One, the shortest of them all, had a leaner figure – the armour appeared less bulky on them. Feminine – she realized. A female Spartan?

"Look, Amy," Natalie said quietly.

They watched as John reached out and shook both of their hands, then clapped them on their shoulders. Their heads moved slightly as they conversed – their words lost over the noise of the camp.

"I wonder what they're saying," Natalie raised a brow.  
"Probably that we're royally fucked." Amy glanced over to her, grinning. "Or maybe Chief's bragging that he got laid."

"I doubt it." Natalie couldn't appreciate her friend's humour.

"Time for a smoke, you think?" Amy had already taken out her pack, placing one between her lips. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Find HQ," they heard Myles speak up to Philips. "Find out what the fuck is going on here."

"Yup!" Amy confirmed, lighting the cigarette. "Organized chaos, gotta love it."

Natalie smirked, taking out her own cigarette. She glanced up at Myles, his eyes were searching the crowd. He spotted her, and gestured with his head for her to come with him. Natalie inhaled her first drag and exhaled it deeply.

"Fuck me," she muttered. "The King beckons."

She strode towards him, following him as they moved to a quieter spot, out of the way of the hustle and bustle.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly. His lip had swollen and grown reddish-purple. Amy had really nicked him well.

Natalie nodded, raising the cigarette to her lips.

"Yes. Thanks for asking." She blew out the smoke. She thought for a moment about inquiring about his mouth, but decided against it.

"Fucking a Spartan has its benefits, in this case, hm?"

"He would have jumped out to save anyone." She wasn't about to take the bait and let him anger her.

Myles couldn't argue against that. He studied her for a moment.

"What the fuck are you doing, Nat?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why him? Is this just to get back at me?"

"I don't have fucking time for this." She sighed, flicking her ashes. "Neither do you."

"I'm just curious – we fight, then you get drunk and end up fuckin' that freak."

"Yeah! Cause it's my choice. You might be able to charge me for being AWOL, but you can't tell me who to fuck. I know that might bother you a bit, but it's true."

"Fine. Go ahead. He doesn't care about you."

"I don't care."

"He doesn't feel anything toward you."

"I don't care."

"He's practically a fuckin' cyborg, Natalie! The Spartans - they fight, they kill, they die. That's their life. That's all they do. That's all they fucking care about."

"Stop it, for fuck sakes, before someone hears you!" Natalie rolled her cigarette in her fingers, the last of the tobacco and ashes falling to the ground. She separated the filter from the paper and began tearing it into little pieces. She could feel the anger building up inside her, heat throbbing in her cheeks. She glanced around the camp, avoiding his gaze. "You're doing what we vowed to never do – bring our personal lives into the fight. I can't get distracted with this shit, Myles. I need to focus on what's important. You do too. I shouldn't be fucking reminding you."

"You're always on my mind, Nat," Myles said quietly. "I worry about you constantly. If I owe that fucking Spartan anything, it's that he's saved your life when I couldn't. I can't always have your back, and that bothers me more than you know."

"Well." She took a deep breath. "It's life. We're living a war. None of us are ever truly safe." She turned, discarding the remains of her cigarette she had clenched in her palm. "I need to acquire a new weapon. Lost mine in the crash." She gave him a quick salute for appearances and marched off.

* * *

John felt relief to be reunited with Kelly and James. They had quickly filled him in on the last couple days. The battle for Lacerta wasn't going well. They were doing what they could, but didn't see a positive outcome ahead.

"This planet's got hours left." Kelly remarked. She sounded grim, tired. "A day or two at the most." She paused to watch a civilian boy carried past on a stretcher, his arm severely disfigured – most likely from a plasma bolt. "We've been evacuating civilians all day. How has your time been onboard the _Hercules_? I heard about Capricornia."

"Fine," John answered. He didn't wish to elaborate. He couldn't imagine telling Kelly and James about Natalie. He wouldn't even know where to start, and had no idea how they would react to learning that he had befriended a Marine. Would that be the correct word? Befriended? He recalled their time together in his quarters, the intimacy and passion that had brewed between them, clear even through their intoxication.

"Dr. Halsey is well?" James inquired.

"Yes." John felt sore. His entire body ached, but his legs and feet in particular. It had been a rough landing. He bent for a moment, resting his hands on his knees. His muscles stretched, burned. He let out a little groan, audible only by his fellow Spartans.

"You're not," Kelly remarked. "What happened?"

"Crash landing. On foot." John straightened, grimacing behind his visor.

"Christ." James shook his head. "How far?"

"About two hundred meters. The canopy slowed me down some."

"You were in the Pelican that crashed not far from here?" Kelly asked. She watched John nod. "Jeez, John. You're supposed to be the lucky one."

"I'm alive, aren't I?"

James and Kelly chuckled.

"You are that," Kelly nodded. "You'll be alright though? We need you in the fight - whatever little fighting we have left to do."

"I'll be fine." He spotted Natalie walking past, a new assault rifle in hand to replace the one lost. Her expression appeared rather downtrodden. She glanced to Kelly and James, then to him, and her face brightened slightly. A little smirk tugged on the corner of her mouth. She raised one finger to her lips, dragging it across them in an upward curve. It was quick, subtle, then she had passed him.

Kelly and James noticed it, though.

"Huh." James folded his arms on his chest, nodding in observation.

"Since when do Marines know the Spartan smile?" Kelly sounded bewildered.

"They don't." John replied. "Just her."

He didn't need to see James and Kelly's faces to know this reply surprised them. But he knew they wouldn't pry. They didn't, and that was the last time it was mentioned.

* * *

The Marines that had arrived from the _Hercules_ were to be on the next rotation out in aiding with the city's evacuation. The platoons that they would be relieving were coming in from three days outside the wire. These Marines had already started to filter into the camp, and as everyone had noticed, they looked like shit.

The Spartans were ordered to take the lead. James and Kelly were provided with sniper rifles and were to scout the right and left flanks as the group moved inward towards the city. John was to proceed just ahead of the main body of the Marine advance.

The majority of the patrol would proceed through the forest via Warthog and troop transports, then depart on foot once they reached the city outskirts. Word was spread to stay on high alert, rumours circled of Jackal teams surrounding the camp.

They stepped off just after 1500. The route to the outskirts of the city was uneventful – not one Covenant to be seen. They emerged from the forest into a large, empty parking lot. Those Marines in the troop transports dismounted and proceeded on foot. It was deathly quiet.

Natalie jumped down out of her vehicle, Amy not far behind her. She could hear every little footstep on the asphalt, and ahead, the low whir of the Warthog engines as the vehicles crawled forward. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Ahead, she could see John. The other two Spartans weren't with him. He was scanning the windows and balconies of buildings, likely looking for Jackal snipers. Every now and again, the horizon would flash. Out of view, the city was beginning to burn.

A single shot rang out, echoing off the buildings. To their left, a lone Jackal plummeted to the ground from its position on a balcony, missing most of its head. One of the Marines laughed, cursing its death.

John opened his comm channel.

"Good shot."

"Sniping is Linda's forte, but I do what I can." It was Kelly.

They continued on. The city showed great signs of fighting. Some buildings were partially collapsed, leaving debris scattered in the streets. Vehicles were left abandoned, some of them blackened and burning from explosions. Plasma burns littered the buildings and vehicles, spent casings rolled underfoot. Dead bodies, human and Covenant alike, lay scattered in the streets, left where they fell.

Aside from that lone Jackal, there were no Covenant to be seen. John radioed the other platoons. No movement. Not even one, measly Grunt.

Over his intercom, John heard Kelly gasp. Not a second later, James let out a curse.

"John." Kelly sounded shaken. "We found something. 100 meters ahead, take a right at the next intersection."

"This isn't fucking pretty." James added.

John felt dread wash over him. What did they find? He glanced over his shoulder to the squads of Marines meandering along behind him, scanning the side streets for any activity. He held up his hand, and slowly closed it to form a fist. Stop.

Myles pushed forward towards the front of the group upon seeing this order.

"What's going on?" He demanded.

"Wait out, sir. My Spartans found something up ahead. It may not be safe." With that, John turned and jogged off. A hundred meters passed quickly. He rounded the corner, and instantly stopped.

Kelly and James stood several feet ahead of him, motionless and staring.

Past them, lay hundreds of dead bodies. Human bodies. Men, women, children. They had all been thrown carelessly into a heaping pile. They had been there for some time – John could smell the decay instantly.

He watched as a bird landed on the face of a dead child. It gave a few uninterested pecks at one empty socket – the eyeball had already been consumed.

Kelly and James turned to look at him. He was glad he couldn't see their faces.

Footsteps could be heard behind them, and John knew without turning, Lieutenant Coddington's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had led the Marines to follow him. Stifled gasps and curses erupted from the troops. Groans and wretches followed not long after. The smell of vomit wafted into John's nose as someone behind him was sick.

"Fucking hell." John turned his head slightly. Myles had come to stand next to him, his hand clamped over his nose and mouth to try to block the stench. His face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Natalie and Amy pushed forward through the troops, taking in the sight for themselves. The smell alone was enough.

"Good God." Natalie muttered, stopping dead in her tracks. Beside her, Amy gagged and covered her mouth, whirling away from the scene.

Then, ahead, there was a commotion. In a blur, John strode away from the scene, heading towards the remnants of a crumbled building. Natalie watched in disbelief as he stooped to snatch up a piece of concrete larger than himself. Lifting it, John let out a yell, whipped around and let it fly.

The concrete slab spun through the air as if it were light as a plate, before crashing into a side of a nearby building, smashing through the glass windows with a deafening crash.

This action silenced everyone. Myles looked terrified as John walked back towards them, shoulders heaving. Over a private comm channel, Kelly lit into John.

"What in the hell was that!?"

"That's not like you, John." James added.

John didn't reply. He had been overcome with rage and frustration. It was beginning to seem that the Covenant were always one step ahead of them, everywhere they went.

He retrieved his assault rifle from his back, and looked down to Lieutenant Coddington, whose face was white as a sheet.

"I suggest we keep moving, Lieutenant."

He watched Myles nod, for once not objecting. John scanned the faces of the Marines. The majority of them had moved back towards the intersection, and avoided looking at the massacre that lay in front of them. Natalie wasn't one of them. She was staring, fixated at the pile of bodies in front of her. Then, she glanced towards him. She was pale, her eyes filled with despair and fear.

"Look!" Someone called out.

"Where did that come from!?"

A large Covenant cruiser had appeared about a mile or two away from them, clearly visible on the horizon. A bright flash illuminated the sky, followed by a deafening roar. In the distance, John could only stare in horror as what was left of the city center began to vaporize.

He turned to look at James and Kelly.

"They're glassing the city," they said together.

John turned around to face the Marines.

"Back to the Warthogs! Run!" He bellowed.

At once, everyone broke into a sprint, the Spartans tailing the Marines, making sure no one fell behind. Natalie ran beside Amy, her chest burning. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, her heart pounded in sync with her footsteps on the pavement. She glanced back behind her, catching a glimpse of the city burning behind them.

"I never even fired a fucking shot!" Amy screamed as they clambered into their Warthogs. "This is a fucking first!"

Tires squealed as they pulled away. The roar of the city crumbling behind them was terrifyingly loud over the sound of the vehicle engines. They sped through the muddy trails, splattering the Marines within.

Upon arriving back at the base camp, Pelicans had already begun evacuating troops to their ships. In the hustle, Kelly and James quickly found John.

"We have to go," James said quickly. "I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

John nodded.

"You have a lot to tell us, John." Kelly reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "Take care. Say hi to Dr. Halsey, tell her not to worry about us!"

"I will." John watched as they hurried off towards their own Pelican. He let out a little curse under his breath, seeing the flames on the horizon. He felt nothing but dread.

* * *

Ktao 'Kolsamee had watched the human retreat from the treeline. He stared at the city being engulfed in flames. The three Spartans were leaving, not even they could stand up to the destruction of their cruisers.

He had made it to the planet's surface from the _Hercules,_ hidden onboard a supply ship. He hadn't made it far out of the Marine base camp, when he had taken note that the Demons were deploying into the city center. But now, they were all retreating. His chance to kill them had come and gone.

He cursed in Sangheili.

"Ship Master," he radioed in to the _Domination_. "I take it there has been a change of plan?"

"Yes, " 'Malnoonee replied. "I am sending a drop ship to retrieve you as we speak. This planet fell far too easily. Your mission will still stand, but for now, you will join us in celebrating our victory. Rejoice, my brother, for another Human colony will be reduced to nothing but glass."


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

The troops arrived back onboard the _Hercules,_ just a few hours after their deployment. To date, it had been the quickest mission that they had participated in. Although their ship had arrived late to the fight, the colony of Lacerta fell rapidly to the Covenant forces, and forced the _Hercules_ along with other ships of the fleet to quickly coordinate a Slipspace jump out of the area.

"Back into the fucking void," Amy commented as they filed along in the queue within the armoury, handing in their ammunition and weapons. "That was a close fucking call at the end of it, but definitely more exciting than the next leg of Slipspace will be, that's for sure. Where the fuck are we even going?"

"It's probably on to a need-to-know basis," Natalie replied, handing off her assault rifle and pistol to the weapons techs. "When we need to know, we'll know. Likely when the Covenant find another colony."

"Which could be days, or months. Gotta love the uncertainty. Hurry up and wait, as they say."

"We'll make a supply stop somewhere, likely," Carter piped up from behind Natalie. "It's been a while since our last one. The cooks have been using powdered eggs for breakfast for a few weeks now. Most of our fresh food is gone."

"That would mean we'd dock somewhere, maybe have a day's leave?" Excitement filled Natalie's face.

"Or, a supply ship could rendezvous with us and we wouldn't fucking go anywhere," Amy smiled sarcastically back at her. They handed in the last of their ammo and filed out of the armoury, heading towards the elevator to go back to their quarters. "I don't know why you still hope for leave. It's been months since I've seen my last leave pass. The war is only getting worse."

"It still fucking exists, even with the war– and it's recommended. Troops need breaks from this shit – or else it fucks with your head."

"I'm already fucked in the head," Amy met Natalie's eyes. "Today's wonderful sight didn't help matters."

The pile of bodies. Natalie could picture it clearly in her mind. Just the thought made a chill run down her spine.

"Bad choice of words, perhaps. Forgive me."

"If you ask me, leave isn't that good of a thing. Everyone just goes out and blows credit on booze, drugs and strippers and wind up fucking random civvy sluts attracted to the uniform. We try to drink, smoke and fuck away our problems, just like we do here, although it's a fucking thousand times worse."

"You're just fucking sour because you're engaged and promised your fiancé that you'd behave yourself."

"Fuck off, no." They had arrived at their room. Amy slapped the button and the door hissed open. Her cheeks were beginning to turn red.

"Fuck off, yes. Spare me the bullshit, Amy. If you were single you'd be doing all that shit you talk about so disdainfully."

"I would, but I'm not. What's your fucking point?" Amy questioned.

Natalie heaved a sigh, shrugging out of her tac vest and hanging it on her locker door. Amy was almost always irritable following a mission, especially if it had been less than successful.

"Never mind."

"I've had a rough day, Natalie." Amy tossed aside her own tac vest. "Just fuck off."

"And I haven't?"

"No, you have, too. We're both getting charged, both saw a lot of dead people, I thought you were dead for about five minutes…" Amy looked thoughtful. "But, unlike you, I can't go blow off steam by swilling whisky and getting my brains fucked out."

"You can go to the gym." Natalie shrugged, sitting on her bed. She pulled off her tunic, then began unlacing her boots. "Honestly, that's probably a healthier coping mechanism."

"Then come with me, slut. I feel like I've hardly seen you lately."  
"We share a room."

"And you're rarely in it."

Natalie sighed, pulling off her boots and setting them just underneath her bed. They were rather muddy, she noted. That'd give her something to do later on. Undoing her belt, Natalie shimmied out of her trousers, and lay back on the bed in just her t-shirt and underwear.

"I'm fucking exhausted."

"I don't mean right this fucking second. Let's go later. Promise me."

"Fine." Natalie sighed again. She draped her arm across her face, shielding out the light. She had just closed her eyes when a voice came over the intercom.

" _Private Klein, 1_ _st_ _Platoon, Alpha Company please report to room delta seven zero niner_."

Natalie groaned, letting her arm fall from her eyes. She slammed her fist down on the mattress.

"Fuck me."

From her bunk, Amy snorted.

"Don't laugh, bitch." Natalie sat up, reaching for the uniform she'd just taken off. "You're probably next."

She redressed as quickly as she could, left the room and consulted the ship's map by the elevators to locate where she needed to be. The specific room was fairly close to the bridge. Offices, she imagined, or conference rooms – somewhere nice selected by Myles himself to conduct her charge parade interview with himself and the company commander.

It didn't take her long to make her way there. When she found the correct room number, she paused for a moment, listening for any voices inside. She heard none. Letting out a sigh, she hit the buzzer.

"Come in." A female voice.

Natalie raised a brow, but walked in. It was a rather small room with a desk, a laptop and a couple of chairs. A middle-aged woman with dark hair was seated at the desk, wearing a long-sleeved burgundy sweater and black leggings. A white lab coat was draped over her chair. Upon seeing her enter, a tight-lipped smile appeared on her face.

"Hello Natalie. I'm Doctor Catherine Halsey."

"Doctor," Natalie said with a nod. It was strange that she used her first name – all other doctors she had dealt with used rank and surname as per usual protocol. Why would a doctor want to see her? Oh. Right. "If this is about me participating in the mission while still on medical chit, I ca-"

"Don't worry. I'm not that kind of doctor." Halsey's voice was calm, smooth. She gestured to one of the empty seats in front of her desk. "Please."

"What kind of a doctor are you, then?" Confusion spread across Natalie's face. She hesitantly perched herself on the edge of the chair.

"I'm a civilian scientist, although I do work primarily with the UNSC. My most notable project is the Spartan II program." Upon saying the word Spartan, Halsey watched Natalie's expression change instantly to one of discomfort.

"Ah." Natalie gave a little laugh. She broke eye contact to pick at the frayed faux leather on the armchair. "I've heard quite a bit about the Spartans. We all have. They're quite the soldiers."

"You must be aware that there is one on this ship." Halsey decided to play her – see how much she would be willing to give up.

"Yes," Natalie met the Doctor's eyes. "Master Chief."

"Indeed. John 117. I understand that you have developed an intimate friendship with him."

At this, Natalie laughed.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Halsey stared at her for a moment. The girl was a good liar. Her face portrayed nothing aside from honest confusion. Letting out a little sigh, Halsey tapped the screen of her laptop. In a second, an image was projected to the holographic panel on the wall. It was a screenshot from the video logs: showing Natalie and John in the middle of a kiss.

Upon seeing this, Natalie's face blanched.

"What the fuck!?" She exclaimed. "Why do you have this? Delete it. Now!"

"Not until you start being honest with me, Natalie. You have nothing to fear."

"Don't I?"

"I just want to know the extent of your relationship with John. He has mentioned you to me on a couple of occasions and has expressed that you have been very kind to him. However, my concern was raised when he was late for reveille the day of the deployment to Lacerta. It caused me to investigate. His behaviour was completely out of character."

"I'm already set to be charged with AWOL for that incident, so if you would like to add to that charge for impeding your Spartan, you can speak to Lieutenant Coddington. I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige you."

"As I said, you have nothing to fear. I didn't bring you here to charge you."

"No, just interrogate me." Natalie quipped.

"I don't think you quite understand the situation. I want to be clear as to what happened between you and John."

"Why? Why is that any of your business?"

"It's my business because John is one of my Spartans and I need to be aware of any personal issues that could potentially cause him to have his mind on anything other than what it needs to be focused on – and that is this war."

"We got drunk; we had sex," Natalie shrugged. "And we haven't really said much to one another since. Oh, and I am on contraceptives and have been since I was sixteen. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"John cares about you. To what extent, I do not know, but it has been apparent since the first time he mentioned you that you mean something to him. I just do not want to see that fractured by the confusion that arises once a relationship becomes intimate. I doubt that John knows how to fully comprehend what happened between you two, especially if his mind was impeded by alcohol. What I guess I am trying to say is, you were kind to assume from the start that John was just like one of the Marines, to treat him like one of your own in an attempt to make him feel welcome - but you assumed too quickly. My Spartans aren't versed in creating emotional relationships with anyone outside of their own kind, and even then, they wouldn't be equivalent to the emotional relationships that say, you and I are capable of having. Spartans weren't made to feel. They weren't made to love. They were made to fight – and that is all that they have known since they were children. But just because they weren't made to do those things, doesn't mean that they can't happen. You have clearly proven that."

"It was just drunken sex. I don't remember a lot of it, if you want the honest truth. He didn't know what he was doing. And, I didn't care much at the time…" Natalie rolled up her sleeve of her uniform, showing Halsey her forearm. Although they had faded to greenish-yellow, the bruises were clear. "But he's got quite the grip."

Natalie expected the Doctor's face to show surprise, but her expression remained mostly unchanged. She simply glanced over the bruises, then met her eyes.

"Yes. He could have killed you. Purely by accident, of course, but what would that have mattered?" Halsey leaned back in her chair. "This is where my concern arises. I do not think it is a good idea that you continue with this… whatever it is. At least if John is drinking. Frankly, his behaviour could be unpredictable. Alcohol can change people, as I am sure you are aware. It is a depressant. And next time, he could forget that he could easily break your bones like a toothpick. No one would want that."

"No." Natalie said, pausing thoughtfully. "He told me about the incident with the ODSTs."

Halsey looked surprised for a moment.

"Well then. You can understand how impertinent it is that John avoids any potential situations that could result in further incidents of that nature."

Natalie nodded.

"Understood."

"Thank you." Halsey looked to the laptop, and with a swipe of her finger, deleted the picture. "And I mean it. Thank you for being kind to John – the drunken incident aside."

Nodding again, Natalie dropped her gaze to the desk, a thoughtful expression crossing her features.

"Personal connections are what have gotten me through this war so far," she confessed. "Friendships or otherwise. It's something positive to focus on. I don't know much about the Spartan program aside from what you and John have told me, but it sounds like a rough life. If I'm helping John focus on something positive, I'm doing him a favour – and that's the least I can do for anyone. He might not be a Marine, but we're all fighting the same enemy. He's saved my life twice so far – and for that I owe him a great debt. Any way that I can be there for him, I will. I promise."

* * *

Natalie came to a stop outside of John's quarters. She paused for a moment, listening. From within, she could hear movement. A part of her was hoping he would be out. Taking a deep breath, she went to hit the buzzer – but instead, heard a voice from inside:

"The door is unlocked."

So much for her attempts at being stealthy. She inched forward, activating the motion sensor. The door hissed open.

John was seated on his bed, wearing nothing but a t shirt and boxers. He was examining his feet, which were swollen and bruised. His face flashed signs of a grimace, but when he looked up, meeting her eyes, it disappeared.

"Hey," Natalie said quietly. She stepped in the room far enough so the door closed behind her. "I um… just wanted to check on you, make sure you're okay." When the words came out of her mouth, she realized how stupid they sounded.

John gave a nod.

"I'm fine."

"Your feet look fucking awful. Are they sore?"

"They'll heal." John was short, his tone curt. He glanced down at his feet, then back up at her. Silent seconds ticked by. His eyes were locked on hers, unblinking. His face portrayed nothing.

She wanted to look away, but couldn't.

"How about you?" He said at last. "Are you okay?"

Natalie nodded. Should she tell him about her conversation with Dr. Halsey? Not yet. Something else needed to be addressed first – the other night. Given their frantic rush in the morning, they had no time to speak about it.

"Listen, John." She moved forward and sat down on the bed next to him, staring at her lap. "I apologize for what happened between us last night. It was my fault that we were late for reveille."

"What _was_ last night?" he asked.

"I don't know." She met his eyes. "What do you want it to be? A drunk mistake? I'm fine with that if you are. Look, I understand that you never were with someone… in that way. I guess I just assumed otherwise."

"It wasn't a mistake. I don't make mistakes. I don't think it was a mistake for you, either. It seemed pretty clear you knew what you were doing and that you wanted to do so."

At this, Natalie felt her cheeks grow warm. She let out a little laugh.

"Sex is a vice, just like alcohol and cigarettes. It's all pleasurable. It's a distraction. A good distraction. Even if it's the three minutes that you're smoking a dart… it's three minutes that you can try to reroute your brain from thinking about how fucked up things are. Last night, yes, I was drunk but I was happy. When you and I were together here, I didn't think about the war, or death, or the Covenant. Not once. It was nice."

John realized she was right.

"Same." He finally agreed. "It's strange. The war is always on my mind, because it's what I do… but… no. No. I didn't think about it last night."

"Good." A small smile appeared on her lips. "It's hard not to. Images get stuck in your head. Stuff you never thought you'd see."

"Like today."

"Yeah." He watched Natalie's expression darken. She bit her lip, staring at the floor. "I could do to forget that."

"Me too."

Their eyes locked. Natalie inched her face closer to his, hesitantly. Would he respond differently, she wondered? However, John closed the space and their lips touched gently, lingering for a moment.

"You're okay?" Natalie murmured against his lips.

"Yes."

She kissed him again, deeper this time. He responded positively, pulling her closer to him. His hand slipped around her back, and he guided her down onto the mattress. Natalie could feel his erection, hard against her thigh. Smiling against his kiss, she reached for his shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the floor. Piece by piece, their garments were discarded. The more naked they got, the lighter they felt, as if each piece of clothing carried the weight of their stress, their fears, the memories they'd rather not remember. It was peaceful, euphoric. The smoothness of his skin against hers, the firmness of him within her, his wet lips on her neck.

"I could get used to this." It was out of her mouth before she could think twice, barely a whisper, laced with pleasure. For a moment, he stopped, and Natalie's breath caught in her throat. _Why did I say that?_ She met his eyes, and at once saw more emotion on his face than she ever thought possible.

"So could I."

And for just a little while – they were lost in their own paradise.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII**

Paradise was to last for only so long. It seemed the moment Natalie left her place in John's arms, reality sprung back to greet her eagerly, nipping at her ankles like an incessant canine. But alas, she had found an escape – even if it were to only take up a few minutes of her day.

The following afternoon, Natalie was summoned over the pager to Myles' office. The pending issue of her charge was coming to light.

She'd been reading when she was paged – still working on that smutty novel of Amy's – so it was nothing for her to quickly change into her uniform and proceed to her inevitable fate.

When she arrived, the door was open. She stepped just inside, coming to attention in the threshold.

"Sir."

Myles sat at the desk, a classified folder in front of him. It wasn't just his office – he shared it among the other platoon commanders in Alpha Company. Due to this, the desk was a mess of various folders, stacks of paper and empty coffee cups. At a quick glance, Natalie knew what was his. A can of tobacco sat by the laptop – a half-full spit bottle next to it.

Only half of the lights in the room were on - just those over the desk - making it rather dim.

Myles looked up, and gestured with his head for her to come in.

"Shut the door behind you." He opened the folder.

She did, then sat down across from him. Normally when she had visited him here, she'd flop into the chair, cross her legs comfortably. This time, however, she lowered herself rigidly into the chair, staring at him. He was still looking at the file folder, his brow furrowed, eyes squinted. His lower lip still appeared to be a bit swollen. For several seconds, the silence was deafening.

At last, Myles looked up, meeting her eyes. He discarded the pen onto the desk with a clatter, leaning back into his chair, folding his arms on his chest.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine." She paused. "You?"

Myles shrugged. "Oh, you know. Tired. Conflicted. For the first time in my career, you've put me between a rock and a hard place. Want to know why?"

"Why?"

"I came back here to this office with the full intentions of filing up the report to get you charged. Then, I realized that if someone who knew our personal history were to investigate my charging you with AWOL, the charges could easily be dropped. They could say that my charging you was done out of spite. Conflict of interest." Myles shrugged again. "And, if I were not to charge you, it would look just as bad – it would make me appear sympathetic – that I was showing favouritism towards you – again due to our history."

"Well the decision must not have been too hard, you have the papers in front of you." Natalie's eyes dropped to the file.

"I have to discipline you in some manner." Myles smirked. "I'm not charging you." He slid the paper across the desk to her. "It's an initial warning, signed off by the company commander. Stays on your file for a month. Your punishment is extra duties for the next week. Read it and sign it. You'll report to the junior ranks mess at 1900 for bar duty. The duty officer has already been informed and will check up on you to make sure you're there."

Natalie felt stunned. She flipped open the file, not fully believing him. Snatching up the pen, she scanned the contents of the form. Sure enough, it was just as he said. She signed it in a flourish, then slid it back to him.

"Painless, hm?" He raised a brow. "I figured you having to be behind the bar as opposed to in front of it was good enough punishment for you – considering it was your fucking drinking that got you where you are. Bartenders have to be 100% sober, as you know."

"Thanks, yes. I'm aware."

"Think of it as a temporary detox."

"I bet you there's a liquor bottle somewhere in that desk, you fucking hypocrite." She made a face.

At this, Myles simply smirked.

"You're funny, Nat. Gotta give you that. It makes it hard for me to stay pissed off at you."

"It always did."

"Well, now you can put that quick tongue of yours to good use." Myles opened a drawer in his desk, and plucked something out, tossing it onto the desk in front of her. A Lance Corporal epaulet.

Natalie gave it one glance, then stared at him, confusion spreading across her face.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"It wasn't my decision. We have positions that need to be filled. Some people needed to be bumped up after the last couple of battles to fill in the gaps that were made. Congratulations on your promotion. It's effective immediately."

Numbly, Natalie reached down to her epaulet and ripped it off, the Velcro seeming loud in the quiet. Neatly, she replaced it with her new rank. Exhaling deeply, she met his eyes.

"Disciplinary actions aren't normally followed by a promotion," she could help but let out a small laugh.

"I know. Fucking ironic, isn't it?" Myles seemed amused, but his expression was kind. "Can't say you deserve it just yet, but we're at war. You'll have to step up to the plate, you know that. There will be people looking up to you now. You're not just one of the shit birds anymore. That means you stick to your fucking guns, be on time for your duties – do a good job and this'll all be forgotten."

Natalie nodded, but her expression was dark. She sighed again, leaning forward onto the desk.

"I'm not sure I'm ready."

"You have to be."

"But I'm not."

"Don't give me that whiny bullshit. Listen to yourself. You can do anything you will yourself to do. You know that. You're a Jarhead."

"You're giving me advice. Shouldn't you be telling me to fuck off now?"

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I told you to fuck off."

Natalie cracked a smile.

"Depends on who you ask, I suppose."

At this, Myles let out a chuckle. Their eyes locked for a moment and they smiled. Natalie's faded first. She sighed, straightening in her chair.

"I should get going."

"Hm. No rush, but I suppose I still need to see Amy."

"Is she going to be as lucky as me?"

"I can't go into details. What she chooses to divulge to you afterward is her business."

"Christ! She's our friend. You can't tell me what's going to happen to her?"

"She punched me in front of thirty men. Thirty witnesses to her being openly insubordinate and striking a superior officer. Higher is already tracking. It's out of my hands."

"I was late in front of the whole fucking battalion!"

"And it's been dealt with. Please don't start on me for something I have no control over. We've been fairly civil since you walked in that door. If you want to blame someone, blame Amy for her inability to control herself. Doesn't matter that she thought you were dead. You could've been fucking shot right in front of her and it still wouldn't have excused her to do what she did. Maybe if you start being a good example, she'll follow."

"I don't have a choice now, do I?"

"Not if you want to keep that, no." Myles gestured to her rank. He paused for a moment. "Amy's tough; she'll be fine. She knew the second she hit me what was going to happen. It's not a surprise. Now, go enjoy the few hours before your duty begins."

Natalie raised her brows, but didn't protest any further. She leaned over to peer into the contents of the garbage can at the side of the desk. She plucked out an empty water bottle, then gestured to Myles' can of tobacco.

"Can I sneak a pinch?"

Myles sighed, looking pained.

"I only have a little left. You have your own."

"It's all the way back in my…"

"You lazy fucker." Myles said this with a smile on his face. Laughter laced his voice. "Get the fuck out of my office."

Letting out a laugh, Natalie stood, and headed for the exit. She paused in the doorway, looking back at him.

"We may clash terribly, but thank you for having my back – even when you might not want to. It means a lot."

"Yeah." Myles gave a nod. "Don't mention it."

* * *

Natalie had just returned from the shower and was getting back into her uniform to get ready for duty, when Amy stormed back into the room, her usually pale face red as a beet. Her lips were pursed, her jaw was clenched, her eyes wide and fierce.

Natalie paused from brushing out her wet hair to look back at her. She hadn't seen Amy since she'd been to visit Myles. There was no Lance Corporal epaulet on her uniform, she realized. She knew what had happened to her, but had to ask on principle.

"What's the verdict?"

"Fucking charged me. 200 credits. Had some random fucker be my escort for the charge parade. The assisting officer couldn't even help my case! Not with all those witnesses."

"You can't be that surprised." Natalie turned back to the mirror. She smoothed back her hair, twisting it into a tight bun at the nape of her neck and securing it with an elastic.

"Well, no." Amy admitted, dropping down onto her bed. She glanced her up and down. "Why the fuck are you getting back into your combats?"

"To serve my punishment." Natalie spritzed her hair with hairspray. "I was assigned extra duties at the junior ranks, of all places."

"So you weren't charged!?" Amy looked surprised.

Natalie shook her head. She glanced down to her new rank on her chest, which Amy had yet to see. She knew that she likely wouldn't be able to get out of the room without her noticing. She let out a sigh, and turned to face her.

Amy spotted it almost immediately, bewilderment crossing her face. A small smirk appeared on her lips, but Natalie knew right away it wasn't friendly.

"I don't fucking believe it." She let out a scoff. Her voice was laced with malice. "A slap on the wrist _and_ a promotion! That's what you get for fucking an officer, eh? Maybe I need to find one after all."

"He had nothing to do with it." Natalie snapped. She felt frustration building inside her – it wasn't normal for Amy to act so petty. "It came from higher. And what I had with Myles is over, you know that."

"I'm sure he had nothing to do with it. Just like he had nothing to do with lowering your punishment. You must be giving him some hope of fucking you again if he's being so nice."

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you!" Amy stood up, crossing the space between their bunks. "I was fucking charged for sticking up for your drunk ass! And you: first you're banging Myles everywhere and anywhere, keeping that nothing but a secret! Everyone knew! You've been at the mess swilling alcohol like it's going out of style! Then, you get all offended because Myles didn't treat you like his special slut in front of everyone, and in a blink of an eye you've moved on to fucking Master Chief, showing up late, reeking of booze and sex and you get fucking promoted for it! Unfuckingbelievable."

"I don't want it!" Natalie's patience broke, and her voice raised to a yell. "I don't fucking want it! It was a random luck of the draw – I'm replacing somebody who died - somebody who likely deserved this a fuck ton more than I do!"

Her anger overwhelmed her, her limbs shook. Amy seemed satisfied with this response – her expression grew sympathetic, her features softening.

"I don't like fighting with you, but bitch, sometimes you need to hear the truth. I'm fucking pissed off. I don't like who you're turning into. You've been a fucking mess."

"And I'm not getting better," Natalie shook her head. "John is a wonderful escape. An escape. That's what I keep trying to tell myself. I thought distancing myself from Myles would help us. I solved one problem, but I've found another with John. I feel it. I fucking feel it." She placed her hand over her heart. She looked terrified. "I'm catching feelings, Amy. Fuck. There's this connection. And I can't. I can't." She shook her head. "Just the way I feel around him. You know what I'm talking about… when I see him, for a second it's as if I can't breathe."

"Oh fucking hell."

"I can't do this. I can't afford to do this. I can't afford to care. It'll be the death of me. Or him. Jesus Christ."

"I know. I know. That's not a now problem. You have your duty to go to, don't you?"

Natalie glanced down to her watch, nodding. She could feel a lump forming in her throat.

"Fifteen minutes."

"Take those and calm down. Get your head on straight. You can't be acting a mess with that new rank." After this, Amy let out a little laugh. "You'll be fine, Nat. I'll be by later to visit. Get some nicotine into ya. Pack a big fat lipper. We can mull over the John thing later."

* * *

When Natalie arrived at the junior ranks, the duty officer confirmed that she knew what was expected of her and let her be. With a sigh, Natalie went behind the bar, taking a few moments to familiarize herself where everything was. She had bartended for a few months before joining the Corps. It wasn't a bad job – the tips made it worth it. Her boss had also let her have a limit of three drinks a night – write it off as spillage.

The mess had just opened, so it was still empty. Natalie surveyed the contents of the liquor bottles, running her finger along the labels, stopping to linger on the bottle of Johnny Walker. She closed her eyes and could taste it. Christ.

Seconds passed. No one came in. She picked up the bottle, pivoted – but stopped just short of grabbing herself a shot glass. There had to be security cameras – and she bet that they could be checked.

She put the whisky back.

"Fuck," she muttered. It would be a long evening.

Over the next while, a few people floated in, bought beer or whisky on the rocks and retreated to table or a game of pool. Some she knew, and they noted her promotion and congratulated her for it. Carter came by with a couple others from her squad, Ellis and Desjardins.

Carter spotted her first, a sly smile appearing on his face. She knew that he knew why she was there. However, once he reached the bar, he had noticed her new rank as well.

"Fucking shit, how did that happen, ya creature?" He grabbed a bar stool.

Natalie glanced to Ellis, half-expecting him to answer for her with something stupid, but he remained silent, his brows raised in surprise. She outranked him now.

"Luck of the draw. What can I get you?"

"Beer for me. I think the same for you, guys?" He looked to the other two. They agreed.

"Good with whatever is on draft?" Natalie's hand hovered above the glasses.

"Yup."

She quickly got them their drinks.

"Method of payment?" She raised a brow.

At this, Carter grinned.

"You know how promotions go. We're your squad mates."

Natalie sighed, letting out a laugh.

"Fuck." A long-standing tradition in the military – when a person was promoted, it was expected for them to buy a round for whoever was present at the time at their promotion. She'd technically been promoted in the quiet of Myles' office, but Carter had a point – they were her squad mates. She reached in her pocket and pulled out her credit card and paid for their beer.

Carter raised his glass to her.

"Thank you, Lance Corporal Klein."

Even Ellis murmured a thank you. He looked quite flustered, keeping his gaze down into the depths of his beer.

Natalie glanced to the entrance, and knew the man entering from the silhouette before he stepped into the dim bar lights. Her heart quickened, her chest felt constricted. Her uniform suddenly felt smothering. She watched as he took his usual seat at the end of the bar, gaze fixed ahead.

She glanced back to her squad members, their conversation falling quiet as they were contented with their beer.

"What do you say, pool?" Dejardins suggested. He had a thick French accent. Although he understood English perfectly, there were times where his own English came out slightly jumbled.

"Yeah, sure." Carter agreed. He glanced back to Natalie. Her face appeared flustered, her expression now stiff, uncertain. "Hey. You okay?"

Natalie forced a smile.

"Dandy. Just a little tired."

"I hear ya. Thanks again for the drinks."

As soon as they had moved away, she hurried down to the end of the bar. At first, John didn't move. His dark eyes were locked on the counter in front of him, his arms folded, one hand supporting his chin. His features were relaxed, save for the fine wrinkles between his brow.

"Water?" she spoke, and broke him from his trance. He immediately looked surprised to see her.

"Yes, thanks."

She gave him a little smile and grabbed a glass. As she was filling it, she took a quiet breath and exhaled deeply, trying to calm her heart rate. _Why in the fuck was this happening?_ She felt ridiculous. Out of control. It made no sense why anyone should have this effect over her.

"You were promoted." He was very observant.

"Hmm." She slid the glass across to him. Her voice sounded like it would tremble, her brain was spinning. "Was given extra duties first."

"For being late."

"Yeah. It was supposed to be a charge initially, so I was lucky. This promotion was just the cherry on the shit cake."

"Most people are happy to be promoted."

"I'm indifferent," Natalie shrugged. "There are pros, as well as cons. Just like everything." She met his eyes.

"You will do fine."

"That's what Myles said."

"For once, he is right."

"But what if he's not? What if this rank gets me killed?"

"Your last one didn't."

"Because of you! I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. And… you won't always be there for me." It was the truth. She knew that he wouldn't stay onboard this ship forever – his job could demand he go elsewhere any moment.

"No." John replied. "I won't. I doubt I have much longer on this ship. I am surprised that I have been here this long."

Natalie bit her lip.

"Yeah."

John raised his glass to his lips, taking a drink of water. Down the bar, someone came back for another drink. Natalie quickly hurried off to serve them. In the few minutes John had to himself, he realized that once he left, the likelihood of him ever seeing her again was minuscule. Unrealistic, even. The universe was vast, the war spread across the galaxy.

Natalie came back. Their eyes locked.

"I want to see you after." They said it at the same moment, their voices hushed and urgent. For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, bewildered that they'd spoke the same words. This sudden realization of the finite times they could be together had spiked a frantic desire for reunion. _It isn't just me_ , Natalie realized. _This is plaguing us both_.

A few more Marines rolled in, approaching the bar. She glanced over, gave a smile, letting them know she saw them. Exhaling a shaky breath, she placed her hand down on the counter, her fingers just brushing his. For a tiny fraction of a second, they lingered there – but at once, she pulled back, balling her hand into a fist. No one had even noticed. She met his eyes.

"My shift is done at midnight."


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV**

It was late, sometime after midnight. Natalie lay with John in his bed, the bedsheets tangled and twisted between their legs. Their clothes were discarded on the floor. It was quiet, peaceful. The single bedside lamp illuminated the room, casting it in a cozy golden glow.

Natalie rested her head on John's chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heart, and felt the slow rise and fall as he breathed. From this angle, she could study his profile – the firm curve of his jawline, the slight cleft in his chin, his taught mouth. There were faint traces of facial hair beginning to speckle his face, she noted. If the regs allowed, he would easily grow a full beard. She took a moment to contemplate what it would look like. Would it grow in dark, or perhaps have traces of red, or lighter brown?

As if he was aware of her studying him, John glanced over to her out of the corner of his eye.

"Something wrong?" he asked quietly.

"No. I was just looking at you."

"I'm not that interesting."

"But you are," Natalie propped herself up on her elbow, brushing her hair out of her face. It cascaded down her shoulder, rather tousled. She glanced down his naked body. "It's strange. In one way, I know you so well…" she paused, meeting his eyes. "And then in another, it's like I don't know you at all."

"There's not much to tell." John replied. "You know me better than most."

"But I don't. I don't even know your last name."

"I don't have one. Not anymore."

"What was it?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not that person any longer. I'm a Spartan."

"It sounds like you didn't have a choice."

"I didn't. I was chosen, but the choice was not mine."

"It seems like a common theme in the military." Natalie sighed, and let herself drop back onto the pillow next to him. She stared at the ceiling. "Makes the choices you do have mean a lot more… like being here with you. It feels… right."

They met each other's eyes. John pulled her face gently to his, pressing his lips against her own.

"It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to. If we're feeling something good, something positive… why fight it? I don't remember the last time I felt like this."

"I've never felt like this," John confessed. "I usually don't feel much. I learned to shut all that off. But this just pushes through, and I feel it anyway."

 _They have a name for that_ , Natalie wanted to say. A terrifying four-letter word that she had tried to forget existed. It was the one human emotion that couldn't be controlled, no matter how hard one tried. Although she knew presently it was just a tiny seed that had begun to sprout in the depths of their hearts, she knew it was a threat.

She'd known it once before, for Myles. Their friendship had bloomed into something more in their last years of school. Myles had been sweet, endearing, attentive to her every emotion. He treated her like a queen. They always made each other laugh. He'd been her first. She'd loved him for years. She loved him when he left for the academy for basic training.

And then, everything had changed when she showed up to his graduation and commission ceremony wearing a uniform of her own.

If she closed her eyes, she could still see the expression of disbelief on his face as she wound her way through the crowd to find him. The disappointment. The worry. How fake his smile had looked when he finally forced it onto his lips.

He had supported her through everything until that very moment. He had gone with her to the veterinarian when she had to euthanize her dog Odin when he was hit by a car. He had stayed right by her side when they had a pregnancy scare – and talked over their options while they waited the three terrifying moments for the test results. He had surprised her with a congratulatory cake when she landed her first job. Willed her to apply for the best universities because he knew she had it in her. Then, when she joined the Marine Corps – it was the first time Natalie realized she didn't have Myles on her side.

It threw a wrench in it all. Distance. Stress. Worry. Her love for Myles soon became distorted, replaced with frustration and hatred. She couldn't understand his logic. Joining the Corps had been something they'd fantasized about since childhood. She had had a UNSC recruiting poster on her bedroom wall for years.

But Myles didn't want her in harm's way. He didn't want her to do well. He wanted her to fail, to get kicked out, to go back home to the safety of Hamburg. He didn't want her in the war. Although it had stemmed from the very love he bore her, Natalie had felt betrayed. So instead of deterring her, it pushed her harder. She went, anyway. She trained. She passed – and she specifically pushed to be posted to an active warship.

It was odd to think that in one moment, the war destroyed one love and drove her and Myles apart – and in another it was the commonality that brought her and John together, when in other circumstances they would never have met.

But how would this be any different? Natalie felt a ball of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. There would still be distance, stress, and worry. And the very real possibility that they could be killed.

"Do you know where you're going next?" Natalie asked quietly. "Or when?"

"No. I never do."

"That doesn't make matters any easier."

"It was never an issue – until now. A part of me wishes…" John trailed off, and shook his head. "Never mind."

"A part of you wishes what?"

"For something that can never be. It would sound foolish for you to say, and even stupider coming out of my mouth."

"That the war would end tomorrow? That you could stay here with me forever?" Natalie let out a little laugh.

John remained silent. And his silence was enough. Natalie bit her lip hard.

"Have you ever been to Earth?" she changed the subject.

"No. I've only seen pictures." John glanced over to her. "That's where you are from?"

"Ich komme aus Hamburg, Deutschland." She smirked.

"Hamburg. Germany."

"Yes. Very good." She said. "Hamburg is in the northern part of Germany. It is a very old city. Not much has changed in the last thousand years - they have worked hard to preserve the historic parts. In the summer months, however, my father had a cottage in southern Germany, in the Bavarian alps. A small town called Garmisch-Partenkirchen. We would always travel there in June, and not leave until August. The cottage was small, nestled up in the mountainside overlooking the town. If you stood outside on the deck in the mornings, you could hear the cow bells as the farmers moved their cattle from one field to another. It seemed to echo – it was such a calming sound. In the distance, towering above it all, you could see Zugspitze, the tallest peak in Germany. It is always covered in snow, even in the summer. Pictures don't do it justice. It is beautiful. I have always wanted to climb it." Natalie let out a sigh. "I always tell myself, that if I make it through this war, I will return there and live out the rest of my days. A simple life. A peaceful life."

"Sounds nice."

"Would you come visit?"

A small smile came to John's lips.

"I would."

"We could hike Zugspitze."

"Yes."

"And then we could celebrate with beer." Natalie grinned. "Big glass mugs that hold a litre. We'd get so drunk. You'd have to carry me home, up the hills, to the cottage." She propped herself up on her elbow, and ran her finger across his chest, watching his nipples harden in response, goosebumps appearing on his skin. "You'd take me to the bedroom, and take off my clothes, and I'd kiss you like this…"

She leaned in and softly pressed her lips against his. She felt him smile against her kiss, heard him chuckle softly. Gently, she rolled on top of him.

"I'd get on you like this."

He cupped her breasts, squeezing them gently. She let out a small sigh, closing her eyes.

"Again?" John asked huskily. "Didn't we just…"

"Are you objecting?" She raised a brow, grinning. She could feel him hardening against her legs. "One part of you isn't."

"No." He shook his head. He pulled her face to his, kissing her again. "I'm most certainly not."

* * *

The remainder of the week played out much the same. Natalie's bartending duties didn't seem like a punishment at all. She maintained a regular PT schedule, pleasing Amy by accompanying her to the gym every day, where she'd fill her in on the night before. John spent each evening in the mess, helping entertain Natalie through her shift. The nights Natalie spent in John's room. They grew closer, more intimate – continuing to share dreams and muses. She told him more about her life on Earth. He seemed intrigued and drawn to her stories – mainly because she knew he could relate to very little of it.

John wasn't lying when he told her there wasn't much to tell about his life. Many of his military missions were of a classified nature, details of about which he couldn't speak. He touched on his Spartan training lightly, answering Natalie's questions when she asked them – but always kept it short. Any details of his life before joining the Spartan program were unknown. Natalie sensed his discomfort when she had asked about his surname, and decided to not pry any further.

Natalie saw very little of Myles. He never checked on her while she was on duty. She would catch sight of him during meals, but they never crossed paths. He never made any move to try to speak to her, even if they happened to make eye contact across the mess. The most she'd get out of him was a small smile that could be missed with a blink. Although this distance felt strange, she was thankful that he was no longer breathing down her neck, criticizing her choices or her relationship with John.

Did it still bother him? Of course it did. She could tell by the uncomfortable look on his face whenever he saw them together. Myles liked to think he controlled his facial expressions, however, Natalie knew every one and exactly what it meant, no matter how much he tried to dilute it.

* * *

Natalie met Amy for PT in the cardio room before breakfast. She followed her friend to the nearest treadmills. To aid the boredom of running inside, each treadmill was equipped with a frontal holographic screen. The user could select from a variety of virtual trails to view – which would play in sync with the runner's speed. If one didn't avert their eyes from the screen ahead, they could pretend that they were running elsewhere than onboard a UNSC vessel.

"How far do you want to run?" Natalie asked, tapping away at the virtual scene selection. She chose a beach at sunrise. Palm trees swayed in the tropical breeze, waves lazily lapping at the coastline.

"Brisk walk. 6 kilometers?" Amy raised a brow. She picked the same virtual scene. "It's hard to talk and run at the same time."  
"So, discussion takes priority over burning calories this morning?"

They started walking.

Amy let out a little laugh.

"I'll skip dessert tonight."

"If you say so. What's so pressing?"

"You. Update me. Last night was your last shift on duty?"

"It was, thankfully. Although I must say, it gave me something to do."

"Only difference is that you were behind the fucking bar instead of in front of it." Amy let out a little laugh. "You'll be back there tonight, don't lie."

"I have been killing for a beer."

"How's John?" A small smile appeared on Amy's lips.

"Good."

"Just good? You're getting awfully close."

"Too close. I don't know why I'm doing it to myself. Well, no. That's a lie. I'm doing it because it feels right. And I'm happy when I'm with him. There's no reason why I shouldn't be happy."

"You're right. You are happy, and you deserve to be."

"But this happiness has an expiry date, Amy. I wish I knew when it will be."

"What do you mean?"

"His job will take him elsewhere. He's not like us – posted to this ship for the next three years. It's just a stop along the way to the next mission. And he doesn't know when he will leave."

"Just because he leaves, doesn't mean what you have has to end."

"Doesn't it? Myles and I fell apart when there were just a few thousand kilometers between us. John could be asked to go lightyears away. I won't be able to talk to him. I probably won't even know where he will be, or how long he will be there. It could be years until I see him again, if I ever see him again. I could die. He could die. We could lose the war. I know all this, and a part of me is telling me to distance myself now. But I can't bring myself to. I want to make as many memories with him as I can, even though they likely will amount to nothing."

"You don't know that for sure."

"No, I don't. But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's how I feel – and I'll hang onto that for as long as I possibly can."

* * *

After grabbing showers following their PT, Natalie and Amy made their way to the mess. On their route, they passed one of the many windows. Instead of seeing distant stars zipping past in white blurs, Natalie saw they had become stationary. A beautiful blue nebula took up much of the black void, the cloud of gasses and matter glittering beautifully. Several thousand stars surrounded it. Natalie came to a stop, staring out at the window. Amy kept walking and talking. It took her several seconds to realize that her friend was no longer by her side.

"Nat? What're you doing?"

"We've exited Slipspace." Natalie pressed her hands to the cool glass.

"Did they announce anything? I didn't hear that we were stopping."  
"No."

"Strange. Let's go. I'm starving."

When they arrived at the mess, they weren't the only ones who had noticed that the ship had exited its Slipspace jump. As they grabbed their trays and filed into the steamline, conversations were buzzing about it. Natalie was all ears. A couple of Sergeants were just in front of them, discussing the issue.

"What are we stopped for?"

"Just a ship to ship transfer."

"Who's being transferred?"

"The Spartan, I think."

Natalie felt a chill run down her spine. Instantly, she could feel Amy's eyes on her. She glanced around the mess.

John wasn't there.

Her eyes went to Myles, seated at his usual spot. He was looking right at her, sipping at his coffee. His expression was knowing, his eyes apologetic. He knew.

"No." It was a whisper that escaped her lips. Natalie thrust her tray into Amy's hands and darted out from her spot in the line.

"Nat!"

She could feel everyone staring at her as she made a bolt for the door. Her heart was in her throat. She ran blindly down the hall, heading for the docking bay, her eyes brimming with tears.

She caught a technician on his way out of the bay.

"Has the ship left yet? The one transferring?" She skidded to a halt, short for breath.

He looked confused and surprised, not expecting someone to ask him.

"Uh… If it hasn't, it will be any minute now."

"Fuck!" Natalie broke into another sprint. She burst into the docking bay, scanning the vast room for movement. She spotted two figures - Doctor Halsey and John, walking into the hatch of a Pelican. Halsey calmly took a seat. John, dressed in his armour, leaned against the bulkhead. The hatch began to close.

Bursting past a group of surprised technicians and crew members, Natalie threw herself against the railing – having to grab onto it to prevent herself from going over into the loading bay below.

She screamed his name from the depth of her lungs – her voice ringing out through the large room. She barely recognized it – it sounded panicked and desperate.

"John!"

John's head immediately snapped to her direction. Halsey turned too, looking rather surprised to see her. The hatch would close in seconds, blocking them from her view. She raised her hand in a desperate wave.

"Be safe!" She shouted, her voice shaking. "Good luck! Kill them all!"

She watched as John raised his finger to his visor, and swiped it across in an upward curve, just as the hatch closed. The platform the Pelican was on began to hydraulically sink down to the ejection hatch.

That was their goodbye. Natalie felt dread overwhelming her. She bit her lip hard. Her grip on the railing tightened, her knuckles whitening.

"Hey. You. Lance Corporal!"

Natalie turned, seeing a perturbed Sergeant hurrying her way. His face was reddening as he approached, and she knew before he spoke she was in trouble.

"Do you have fucking authorization to be here?"

"No, Sergeant." She took a couple steps backward toward the exit. She didn't even bother with explaining. Excuses were bullshit in the Corps. She knew the Sergeant didn't give a shit why she was there, only that if she wasn't supposed to be, she had better leave.

"Get the fuck out before someone who cares more than I do sees you."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Natalie turned and left. The doors hissing shut behind her seemed terribly loud. She hadn't made it even a few feet down the hall before she realized she was shaking. She took in several deep breaths to control herself. Two hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt emotion welling up within her, bubbling to a boil.

Seething, she turned on the nearest wall and punched it with a cry. Once. Twice. On the third punch, she saw her blood. Adrenaline drowned the pain. She took one look at her bloodied knuckles and kept going down the hall.


	15. Chapter 15

**XV**

Dr. Halsey sat quietly in her seat onboard the Pelican. They were being transferred to the UNSC frigate _Salvation_ , which would take them to the colony of Reach. There, a handful of the Spartans would rendezvous, to train and prepare for a Spartan-only mission. Halsey had yet to receive much information on it. She had just only gotten notice that she and John were to leave the _Hercules_ that morning.

John stood by the hatchway door, unmoving. Halsey had expected him to sit down once the hatch had closed, but he didn't. He had been brief in his words since they had met this morning, and since his goodbye to Klein, he had said nothing.

"I'm sorry, John." Halsey said quietly.

At this, his head turned slightly, acknowledging he had heard.

"For what, ma'am?"

"You didn't get to say a proper goodbye."

"At least it was said." John replied curtly. "It'll have to do."

Dr. Halsey let a bittersweet smile cross her features, and dropped her gaze to her lap.

"Here I am again, playing a part in taking you away from someone who means so much to you." She heaved a sigh. "I feel personally guilty."

"It's not your fault, Doctor. We've got our orders. We must follow them." John pivoted, and sat down gently next to her. He rested his arms on his knees, letting his head droop a little. Halsey thought she heard him sigh, but couldn't be certain. "This separation doesn't come as a surprise. Natalie knew it could happen, just as I did. It will be difficult, knowing I can't be there to protect her. For the first time in a while, I'm frustrated. I've been feeling a lot more in the past week than I suppose I am used to. But I can shut it off. I'll have to."

"Just don't let it get in the way of your mission," Halsey said. "You can't afford to be distracted."

John nodded once.

"How do people have families and fight a war?" this question surprised Halsey. "How can they keep their mind on what's important? How can they not be constantly worrying?"

"That's why love is the most powerful emotion of all. And sometimes, the deadliest."

"Love?" John repeated the word aloud. "This is love, is it?"

"Only you can answer that, John."

"If this is love, it makes sense. I can't control it – and that alone is unsettling."

"But you can still control yourself." Halsey reached over and grabbed his hand for a moment. She gave it a squeeze. "Please just keep your mind in this war. Love has been the death of many."

* * *

A helmet whizzed by Myles' head, hitting the wall with a crack and rolling to the floor. He ducked, covering his face with his hands. Peeking out at Natalie, he watched as she whipped a combat boot from her locker.

"You fucking knew!" She let the boot fly. It thudded against Myles' shoulder. He cursed.

"Fucking stop throwing shit at me!"

"Go fuck yourself!" Natalie's chest heaved with each breath. Her hair was dishevelled, falling out of the braid she had put it in. Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes wide with anger, her jaw clenched. She turned to find another object to throw at him – and in this second, Myles' charged her, grabbing for her hand, which was clenched around another boot.

They crashed into the locker. Natalie barely felt her head hit against the door. Her anger propelled her as she fought against him. His grip on her wrist was like a vice – she dropped the boot, jamming her elbow into his throat and swiftly brought her knee up into his groin – not quite hitting her target. Myles let out a groan, cursing again, one hand shielding his crotch.

"Yes, that's right, Nattie. Get mad."

He barely had a chance to recover when she slapped him, once, twice – one hitting his face, the other his shoulder.

"Yeah! That's it! Do you feel better?"

This seemed to frustrate her worse.

"Fuck you!"

She shoved him backwards with all her might. He stumbled backwards, catching himself on the bed.

"Come on!" He yelled.

"Fuck you!" she screamed it again, but whirled away from him, clasping her hands onto the sides of her head, her breaths quick and frantic. Her entire body shook. She gritted her teeth together. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes. She heard Myles behind her get to his feet, the springs on the bed breathing a sigh of relief as he did.

She stared at the wall – she couldn't face him. She counted the seconds, hoping he would leave. The tears that had been forming dropped down her cheeks. Her next breath came out as a quiet sob. Clenching her fists, she curled her fingers through her hair.

"Natalie." Myles voice had changed, it had grown quieter. She recognized the concern lacing the edges of it. She hated it. She felt his hand gently touch her arm, guiding her around to face him.

She pivoted, and gave him another shove.

"Get away from me."

But he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. He felt her stiffen at his gesture, pound her fists a couple times against his chest. A pitiful sound escaped her, and she let her head drop onto his shoulder, her body tense and trembling.

For a long time, Myles stood and let her cry against him, holding her tightly. He swayed gently on his feet. A part of him wanted to kiss her forehead, but he didn't. Is this how she had been when he had left her on Earth? When they decided their relationship was best left behind them? To see her hurt, hurt him. She had really cared for the Spartan, he realized.

"Why did I do this to myself?" Natalie mumbled against his shoulder. Her voice had lost its anger, instead now it sounded weak. "Why did I think it would be any different?"

"I don't know. Nothing wrong with hoping."

"I wish I couldn't feel a thing. Not a fucking thing."

"Feeling is what makes us human, Nat."

"Feeling is what makes us weak."

He heaved a sigh.

"You're not weak. You're one of the strongest women I know. You always have been."

"How is this strong?" She lifted her head from his chest, wiping at her eyes. "I should've let us be a lesson; I should've learned from the first time. You shouldn't care too much about someone. Not in this war. You realized that first." She shook her head. "But I went ahead and cared anyway."

"Sometimes you're powerless." Myles said quietly. Just as he was powerless against his still-lingering feelings for her.

"Yeah. It's a disgusting feeling. I'm sorry for my outburst." She stepped out of his embrace and bent to the floor, retrieving one of her combat boots. Her voice waivered. "I need fucking nicotine. Or a drink. I don't know which I want more."

"Not a drink. It's not even noon." Myles noticed the bloodied knuckles of her right hand as she placed the boot back onto the shelf in the locker. "Christ, Nattie." He snatched her hand. She sucked in a painful breath between her teeth. A look of shame crossed her features. Two of the knuckles were visibly swollen and bruised. All were skinned. Dried blood had caked to the skin. "One of these days you're going to break your fucking hand."

"It's how I deal with it."

"Your coping mechanisms need some improvement."

She pulled her hand back, clutching it to her chest. She dropped her gaze to the floor. She thought of John. He'd begun as a coping mechanism. The time she had spent with him had been a wonderful escape.

"You know I'm always here for you."

She nodded once, curtly.

"And I know where to find you if I need you." She sniffled, wiping at her nose again. "I'll be fine. Please let me be alone for a while. I don't know when Amy will be back here."

Myles heaved a sigh, but he nodded. He headed towards the door, but stooped to pick up her helmet.

"Heads up," He tossed it gently underhand. She snatched it out of the air, looking ashamed that she'd thrown it. Myles glanced to the wall, inspecting it for any damages. "You're lucky this time. But don't make helmet throwing a habit, eh?"

Natalie couldn't help but smile despite it all.

"No promises, sir."

Myles shrugged, raising his brows, heading out the door.

"Myles?"

He paused in the threshold, glancing back at her. There was something hopeful in his expression, perhaps that she would recall her words, and let him stay.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For my behaviour."

"You feel a bit better now, though?" Myles replied knowingly. "Listen, for the record, I only heard about the Spartan leaving maybe three minutes before you arrived to breakfast this morning. I was going to tell you myself. I know in whatever way, he made you happy. That's one thing I want you to be. Ideally, I always thought it would be with me. But…" He paused, pretending to be concerned with the mechanism of the door. "Things change."

To this, Natalie had nothing to say.

"I'll see you around." Myles gave her a small smile, but something about it was sad. He knocked his fist on the door frame before exiting.

The doors hissing shut paired perfectly with Natalie's heavy sigh.

* * *

Natalie walked into the ship's chapel – a place she'd never been. It was a long, narrow room, with several rows of chairs separated by a single aisle leading to the apse and the choir area. Warm orange lights lined their way along the walls, converging at the crossing, where a large chandelier hung from the ceiling. These gave off the illusion of candlelight. One singular monument stood right behind the preacher's podium, a creative piece of art combining the symbols of the most prominent religions. The entire back wall of the chapel was comprised of large windows spanning floor to ceiling, providing a beautiful view of the stars. Outside, Natalie could see that _Hercules_ had once again entered Slipspace. There were lightyears between her and John already.

Her footsteps seemed to echo as she began her way down the aisle. She came to a stop just in front of the podium, staring out the window, watching the stars speed by in flashes of light.

"Mesmerizing, isn't it?"

Natalie jumped, turning to her left. The ship's padre had emerged from an alternate entrance. He was dressed in the standard uniform, just like she – combat boots and all. The only thing that differed him from everyone else was the large prominent cross on his epaulet, just below the rank of Major. Although religion had taken a significant decline since the late 21st century, Christianity remained to be one of the most highly recognized religions of humanity.

She eyed his nametag. Kingston. He was an older man, with grey hair, in his early fifties, she guessed. He was a bit heavy in the face, his cheeks tinged red. _A drinker, maybe?_ She wondered. _I know I'd have to be to be a padre._

"It is, sir."

"You're welcome in my chapel on the condition that you don't call me sir again," Kingston smiled warmly. "It's Padre. Or you can call me Dave."

Natalie raised her brow at his lack of formalities, but wasn't about to object.

"Sounds good, Padre."

"Shall I let you be with your prayers… or…"

"Oh no. I'm not here for that." Natalie said. "I just need to get some stuff off my chest."

"That's what I'm here for. I listen more than I preach, so it seems nowadays. The audience on Sundays seem to be getting smaller and smaller each week." He gestured to the nearest chairs. "Come, sit."

They sat down, looking out at the stars zipping past.

"I used to think I'd be going to hell when I die," Natalie started, folding her arms on her lap. "But now I think I'm living it. Whatever comes after I think will be a breath of fresh air." She glanced over and watched a small smile appear on the Padre's face. "Is that a question that you get asked a lot, what happens after we die?"

"I can't answer it, not truly. It is all about what you believe, and what comforts you."

"I don't have a religion. I don't imagine many do."

"No, they're far and in between in this century. My role is less spiritual and more supportive. A guidance counselor, of sorts."

"Well I came to the right place then," Natalie smiled. "To be honest I didn't know what to expect when I walked in here."

"This is it," Kingston gestured at the large windows. "It's one of my favourite places on ship. Usually, those who visit here share the same sentiment. I have people come here to just sit and watch the stars go by."

"I can see how that alone would be therapeutic. It's calming," Natalie sighed quietly. "I need some calm in my life."

"You're stressed. I can see it on your face. And your knuckles…" A hint of disappointment appeared in his voice.

Natalie opened and closed her hand, feeling the pain ebb through it.

"I've always been terrible at coping, as you can see. Alcohol and nicotine are my biggest vices, and when they're not enough..." She trailed off, placing her left hand over her right, covering her knuckles. "It's tough in the Corps. That's what I worried about when I was just getting in – the physical aspect. But that's not what gets me –that shit's nothing. Even the killing. I can squeeze a trigger to save my life or somebody else. It's not the training, not the fighting or the killing. It's what goes through your head when you're lying in your bunk alone at night. Some stuff you think didn't bother you comes back to haunt you. I have images in my head I know I'll never forget. It's fucking tough. I know I'm not alone, and probably not the worst. Everyone here lives like it's their last day, and truly, most of the time we don't know if it is. It's easy to pick up a liquor bottle and try to make peace with yourself, just in case it is your last."

"You're definitely not alone. I'm sorry, I didn't ask your first name…"

"Natalie."

"Natalie. You're not alone. Definitely not alone. Being a Marine is hard on the head, that much is true. This war is creating new heights of just how hard it can be. You're taking a good step in the right direction, though, coming here. I'm afraid many might avoid this place on the pretense that they assume it is solely a place for prayer. One of the best parts of this job for me is being able to be troops' listening ear. It'd surprise you how much a person can feel better by just simply talking. A full unload, if you will."

Natalie let out a little laugh.

"You need to find a better form of coping with your stress," he continued. "Yes, I know everybody once and a while will turn to a beer after a hard day or that smoke on the way to the DZ, but both of those can become unhealthy habits."

"I had one – a better coping mechanism. Or should I say, someone." Natalie bit her lip. "I never thought a person could make everything feel so wonderful. When I was with him, I could almost forget the war existed. I was uncertain for a while, but I think I can say at the end of it, it was love." She let out a little scoff. "Love in war. It's so misplaced. Humanity may be facing certain extinction, and yet we can still be burdened by something so simple as feelings for another."

"Love can be what holds a person together. Even after someone you love is gone."

"He's gone, but I could see him again. Some day. Maybe. I don't know. The uncertainty will drive me insane, I think."

"Hold on to the hope of your reunion, whether it is in this life or the next. Use it to be that extra little edge to get you going when you're feeling down. If this man made you so happy when he was next to you, surely the memories you have of him can provide you happiness as well?"

"They do. They hurt right now, but they're happy, yes." Natalie smiled. "Do you have a family, Padre?"

"Yes. A wife, two children, and one grandchild. They're my world."

"Maybe that'll be me someday, with a husband and kids - but I doubt it. I had a chilling thought as I walked down the aisle to come in here – I doubt I'll ever get to walk down one wearing a white dress."

"No one can predict the future. In all it's uncertainty, hold on to the things that you know will never change – like the love you have for the people who mean the most to you."

"Thank you, Padre. Hearing that means a lot."

"And I've barely spoken. It's been mostly you. But it feels like a great weight has been lifted off your shoulders, doesn't it?"

"Yes… for now. I come back, if I need to?"

"Of course. The chapel is always open, even if I am not here."

"Padre, I'm not religious at all as I've said, so it probably won't mean much coming from me. Could I ask you to say a prayer for someone? Just that he is kept safe and all that? His name is John."

"John – a biblical name if there ever was one," Kingston smiled. "Yes, I will say a prayer for him."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Do you mind if I just sit here for a bit longer? Stare out the window at the stars?" Natalie let out a little laugh.

"Stay as long as you wish."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Quick apologies for the delayed arrival of this next chapter. An unexpected personal issue and a trip to Cuba kept me away from writing for some time. All is well, and I'm back to 'er. Expect more regular updates in the future. - AB

 **XVI**

It took the _Salvation_ just over a month to arrive at the colony of Reach, and John spent that time in cryo sleep. Upon initially boarding and learning of the distance needed to reach their destination, it seemed like forever to him. He didn't wish to suffer through it, alone with his thoughts or avoiding prying questions from Halsey. She pitied him, he knew without asking. He didn't want pity. He didn't want anything. So, he opted for an icy hibernation instead.

The _Salvation_ docked at one of Reach's space stations. Halsey and John took a Pelican to the UNSC base on the surface. It was a familiar place to them both.

Linda was waiting for John at the entrance to the senior NCO's shacks, unmistakeable with her unnaturally red hair and bright green eyes, both of which were enhanced against the pale backdrop of her skin. Her thin lips parted into a subtle smile when she saw him. She was dressed in her PT strip, a grey t-shirt, black shorts and sneakers. Although she had the physical characteristics of a Spartan – the defined musculature, quick smooth movements, the composed features – there had always been something graceful about her.

"Hey stranger," she said quietly when he arrived in hearing distance. She looked him up in down. His MJOLNIR armour he'd left at the armoury to the technicians' tender love and care. Instead, he looked strapping in his dress whites, his duffle bag in hand. "Looking fancy."

"Hey." John climbed the front steps, two at a time. He paused, feeling overdressed. "Wasn't sure what to expect when I got here. This seemed like the safest bet."

"You can dress down for now. PT strip will do, if you'd like to come with me. I was about to go for a run, but I heard we were expecting you. I'll show you to our quarters first, if you'd like to drop off your kit and get settled."

Having spent the last two weeks in a cryo tube, the idea of stretching out his muscles by joining Linda for a run sounded great.

"Sure."

"They've got us all in the same hall. Second floor. This way." They walked inside. The foyer was grand, with high glass ceilings that flooded the space with daylight. A large UNSC banner hung in plain view. A few hallways branched off in different directions. Linda gestured to the elevator just off to their left. "The Doctor's gone already?"

"We'd barely dismounted the Pelican and one of her fellow colleagues had whisked her off to tend to something. Lucky I know my way around base, or I'd still be standing on the tarmac wondering where to go."

Linda smirked at this, letting out a girlish hmph of amusement. They entered the elevator. She selected the correct floor on the panel. The door hissed shut.

"I've missed you, John – and your occasional sense of cynical humour."

"I've missed you too."

The elevator reached their floor, and they exited, John allowing Linda to lead him off to the right. She began scanning the names on the doors.

"You're right... ah. Here." She stopped outside one of the rooms. "Between Kurt and Kelly. I'm just down the hall." She watched John look at the panel on the door. "Our room codes are our Spartan tags."

John narrowed his eyes and tapped 117 on the number pad. Sure enough, the green light winked and the door hissed open. His room was very similar to the one he had had onboard the _Hercules_. The UNSC standard differed little depending on location. The only difference was the floors were carpeted, and he had his own private bathroom.

He walked in and dropped his duffle bag on his bed. Linda took a step inside the room, allowing the door to close behind her. She leaned against the wall, folding her arms on her chest. For a moment, there were a few seconds of silence.

"So," she said finally, her voice soft. "Tell me of your adventures. You were onboard a frigate for some time? The _Hercules_? I'm playing dumb, but I confess I've been partially briefed by Kelly and James. Although they say you didn't have much to tell."

"You know me." John reached up and began unbuttoning his tunic. "I'm not one for telling stories." He shrugged out of the garment and draped it over the back of the desk chair, the medals gleaming in the florescent lights.

"Life was that uneventful? Was it strange living amongst the Marines? Their attitudes towards us are always… mixed. Although not nearly as bad as the Helljumpers."

"No complaints." John said, glancing over to her. He loosened his tie and pulled it up over his head. "I tried beer."

"What?" Linda looked surprised. A hint of laughter danced in her voice. "Really? What on earth persuaded you to want to do that?"  
"It's… what they do." He shrugged.

"They? The Marines? Yes of course – they're crazy."

"And we're not?" He raised a brow. "Suicide missions… fighting against ridiculous odds…"

"We don't have a choice. They do. They volunteered. We were selected. What we may do could be considered crazy, but we as Spartans are a polished, disciplined, elite fighting force that will destroy anything that gets in our way. The Marines a lot of the time are far from polished, far from disciplined and more often than not get themselves killed because they are too weak to…"

"They are merely human, Linda. Not weak. They weren't augmented like we were. They do their best."

"I'm sorry, I thought you shared our views. Or at least you did."

"I never expressed my views." John corrected her. "And if you spent the time I spent with the same group of Marines I did, I think you would be more inclined to share my opinion."  
"Not so inclined as to share the Spartan smile with them, no I think not." At this, John detected a growth of seriousness in Linda's tone. He paused from retrieving a coat hanger from his locker, and met her eyes.

Linda was tall for a woman, but not his height. She was about half a head shorter than he. She took a couple steps towards him, keeping her arms folded on her chest.

"Kelly told me she saw you give the Spartan smile to a female marine. And she did it back, which means you took the time to explain to her what it meant."

"Yes. And?"  
"Why?" Linda looked confused. "Surely you haven't…"

"Haven't what?"  
"Let yourself develop any of kind of… emotional connection with her!" Usually sure of her words, Linda stumbled over the ones coming out of her mouth now..

John remained silent, knowing he didn't have to answer. Linda let his silence continue for several seconds, her gaze with him unbreaking. At once, her brow furrowed, and she pivoted away from him, letting out a sigh of disbelief and running her fingers through her hair, mussing her bangs.

"Fuck!" Linda rarely swore. "I'd expect something like that from Kurt, but not you! Our team leader – so quiet and composed... Does Dr. Halsey know?"

"Yes."

"And she's okay with it?"

"She never discouraged me against it."

"Madness! Emotions bring nothing but trouble. You know that. You got after Kurt for so long for it - his exuberant sociability, his friendships…"

"This was different. I never tried to be sociable. I never tried to make friendships."

"Then what happened?"

"She found me. She talked to me; bought me a drink at the mess. She wanted to know about me, she was interested in me - I don't know why, but… it was a nice change from what I've been used to all my life. Anyone outside of our circle staring at me with fear or intimidation or disapproval. This marine, she… she didn't judge me. She saw me for what I was, got to know me better than I think anyone has known me before, and it was almost too good to be true. What came over me… what I felt… I couldn't control it."

Linda stared at him, absorbing his words. Slowly, she dropped into the desk chair, her eyes not leaving him for a second. Very little expression showed on her face. The lighting made her freckles stand out on her cheeks and nose.

"That's not good," she finally said, her voice almost a whisper. "Surely Dr. Halsey can see that too. We're meant to be in total control of ourselves. Our strength, our thoughts, our feelings. If not… we can't function as we're meant to."

"Are you saying I'm less effective?" John demanded.

"I don't know. Are you?" Linda snapped right back. "You seem awfully quick to let your emotions get to you. You're irritated with me right now. I can see it on your face and hear it in your voice."

"Don't act like we don't feel."

"We do, but we've spent years of mastering the act of hiding it."

"Some feelings you can't hide."

"I can hide them all, thank you."

"Love?" John demanded.

At once, a blank look crossed Linda's features. The question seemed to confuse her immediately.

"What?"

"Love. Can you hide love?"

Linda furrowed her brow, dropping her gaze to the floor. She opened her mouth to reply, but shut it, shrugging.

"You haven't felt it," John continued. "I know you haven't."

"No. I haven't. And I'm glad I haven't. Look what it's done to you."

"I don't regret it. It was one of the very few times in my life that I have been truly happy. But it's over now. I will likely never see nor speak to her again."

Upon hearing this, something about Linda's expression changed. A flash of pity, perhaps? It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"I won't say anything to the others. Not if you don't want me to."

"It doesn't matter anymore – it's history." John began unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Wait outside. Give me two minutes to change into my PT gear."

The conversation about Natalie Klein was over.

"10 mile run?" Linda paused in the doorway. "Should have us back in time for supper."

He nodded. Linda left the room. He sighed heavily, the sound muffled by the door hissing shut.

* * *

Amy awoke to the sound of retching. Letting out a groan, she rolled over to see Natalie, hanging half out of her bed, vomiting into the trash can.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nat." She pulled the blanket up over her nose, knowing it wouldn't take long before the smell to permeate throughout their small room.

Natalie coughed loudly, dry heaving a couple more times. In between dry heaves, she sucked in miserable moaning breaths. In the high contrast of her bedside lamp, she looked miserable. She had gone to bed with her hair in a ponytail, but the band had loosened in her sleep, letting half of her hair be free. Some it now was stuck to her face, likely contaminated with what had been the contents of her stomach.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. She dropped the trashcan back onto the floor with a metallic crash.

"If you're going to puke again, get the fuck up and go to the bathroom. Take the fucking garbage can with you and wash it out." Amy let herself drop back onto her pillow, throwing her arm over her eyes. She could hear the rustling of sheets as Natalie untangled herself from them, the sound of the garbage can being plucked from its place on the floor and the _slap slap slap_ of Natalie's flip flops on the tile floor as she shuffled to the doorway.

Once her friend had gone, Amy glanced to her watch sitting on her bedside table. The mess would be open in ten minutes for breakfast. She swore under her breath, but threw back the covers, sitting up.

This wasn't the first time that her morning alarm was the sound of Natalie puking up her guts. She spent most evenings in the Junior Ranks' mess – drinking and playing pool with whoever the hell would join her. When the mess closed, she'd stumble noisily back, hammered, and then pass out.

Myles had mostly kept his distance for the last month, however, Amy suspected he was well aware of how Natalie spent her evenings – but as far as she knew, he had nothing to do with them. There hadn't been one night where Natalie hadn't returned to her bed.

At least there was that positive.

Amy shrugged off her sleepiness, got dressed and went to breakfast. Not many were there right at opening. Many aboard had fallen into the Slipspace slump – an entire month had gone by and the most exciting thing to happen was a ship-to-ship resupply.

As she grabbed her tray and joined the steam line, she heard a voice behind her.

"Morning, Smythe."

She looked back, to see Myles. His hair was still wet – he'd likely just come from the shower after PT.

"Morning, sir."

"Your roommate is in the bathroom vomiting," he said this casually, his voice rather monotone. He looked tired.

"I know."

"Third time this week."  
Amy specified she'd like a fried egg and bologna, then glanced back to Myles.

"I knew you'd be keeping track."  
"Not purposely. It just seems to jive with my post-PT shower."

They both got their food, and moved to the beverage station.

"I doubt we'll see her at breakfast," Myles poured himself coffee. He gestured to the empty mug in Amy's hand and filled hers as well. "I'll sit with you."

Amy didn't object. They moved to the closest table and sat down across from one another. There were a few moments of silence as they took their initial few bites and sips of coffee.

"Should I be worried?" Amy asked.

"You share a room with her, you would know best, I think." Myles shrugged. "Is she still maintaining a PT schedule?"  
"Not a regular one. We used to go together in the mornings. Now lately it seems she is either sleeping or busy being sick."

"Does she talk to you?"

"Most of the time. Loves to talk to me when she's drunk and I'm trying to go to sleep," Amy sighed. "I told her to shut the fuck up last night. It's getting old."

"Has she said anything meaningful?"

"Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out she's tore up over John leaving. She acted the same way when you broke up with her the first time. Tries to drown her sorrows in alcohol, but usually it only makes things worse. At least she hasn't tried to find a rebound. I have a feeling that would be a fucking shit show."

"Hmph."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Unless she gets alcohol poisoning or takes to stripping on a pool table, not really. Her behaviour is about on par with what begins to happen when you have 800 marines itching to fight and there's a lag in the action. They drink and fuck around." Myles sipped his coffee. "I can try to speak to her if you're not getting anywhere, but I'd rather not. Natalie knows she can come to both of us if she's truly having a problem. If she doesn't, well… assume she's got things handled."

* * *

Later that morning, Natalie went to the medical bay. She hadn't been feeling well for

over a week. Nausea and vomiting was a common occurrence. Food made her stomach do somersaults. Initially, she assumed it was due to her excessive drinking, but last night, she had only had one beer. Still, she awoke nauseous, had little appetite, and was plagued with constant fatigue.

While she waited to see a doctor, her heart sat in her throat, her mind raced. Something wasn't right. And deep down, a part of her knew what could be wrong. A part that she tried to ignore with all her might – it didn't make sense – it was impossible!

Natalie finally got in to see Dr. Lobowski, a middle-aged woman with hair that was going grey way before its time. Her face looked weary, wrinkles on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes enhanced by the pale florescent lighting in the examination room. Her eyes, however, were bright and expressive, and she greeted Natalie with a smile and a handshake, making her feel welcome as she guided her to take a seat on the examination table.

Natalie explained her symptoms to Lobowski, who nodded and jotted notes on a data pad. She didn't seem fazed or concerned with the described symptoms. When Natalie was finished, she simply turned to a cupboard and produced a small empty plastic cup, holding it out to her.

"Bathroom is just down the hall. We'll start with a urine sample."

 _Why?_ Natalie wanted to ask. Without a word, she went, peed, then came back. The doctor took the cup, took off the cap, and inserted a small plastic tab into the urine. Almost instantly, the end of the stick turned pink.

"What's that for?" Natalie asked, staring at the stick. She felt her stomach constrict.

"Tests the levels of HCG," she replied nonchalantly. She removed the stick, tapping a few droplets on the edge of the cup and dropping it into a trash can. "I'm sorry to say, but you're pregnant."

"What?" The voice that Natalie heard didn't sound like her own. She could feel the blood draining from her face.

"What was the approximate date of your last menstrual period?"

"I… I don't remember… a while ago… but that's fucked up! I'm on the pill."

"Hormones don't lie." Lobowski said. "Lay back for the table for me please and lift your shirt."

Natalie did as she was told, in shock. The tissue paper beneath her crinkled loudly as she stared at the ceiling. With gloved hands, Lobowski prodded her lower abdomen, pressing deeply on her bladder. Although she had just urinated, it made Natalie feel like she was going to go right then and there.

"I can barely feel your uterus behind your pubic bone. You're not far along. Five, six weeks perhaps. You do understand if you do not wish to terminate the pregnancy, it will result in your immediate release from the Marine Corps, or, depending on availability, upon request you could be posted to a non-combat position to carry the pregnancy to term."

Natalie made a small sound of acknowledgment.

"How many sexual partners have you had in the last two months?"

"Two." _Fucking fuck._

"And you used no other form of contraceptive aside from the pill?"

She shook her head. A lump was forming in her throat. She was pregnant. And the baby was either Myles' or John's.

"If you know the exact dates in which you slept with the two partners, and if you consent to an ultrasound where we can more accurately date you, it would be possible to determine who the fath…"

"No." Natalie's throat felt dry.

"Then you've made your decision?"

There could only be one.

She was prescribed a pill. She took it before she left the office.

In middle of the night, she awoke with sharp cramping pains in her belly. Great, rippling pains that she knew could only mean one thing. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed as quietly as possible. In the dark, she could see the outline of Amy's sleeping form across the room.

The pain ebbed from her very core. She couldn't stand straight. She hobbled her way to the bathroom, holding back audible sounds of agony. Crashing her way into the closest stall, she looked down. Dark red blood was already seeping through her shorts.

With shaking hands, she shimmied out of them. Her underwear were ruined. She let herself drop onto the toilet seat, curling over, clutching her abdomen. Sucking in a large breath, she let out a moan, which ended in a sob. Hot tears rolled down her face.

She never felt more alone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Update:**

I would like to apologize for the delayed arrival of this next chapter. I was sent away for work with the military in July. In August, I lost my father to an unexpected illness. From there, my life sort of derailed. I lost interest and inspiration to do the things that I loved. I hit rock bottom and I'm slowly finding myself again. Grief doesn't have an expiry, nor a timeline. It's more like ocean waves. They come in, they go out. Sometimes the waves are small. Sometimes they knock you off your feet. I hope 2018 bodes clear skies and calm seas, but please bare with me if I face an occasional storm or two. I'll try to write and update as often as I can. I haven't forgotten about you all.

* * *

 **XVII**

 **THREE MONTHS LATER**

Natalie awoke to a shake on the shoulder. Immediately, she shot upward, her hand instinctively reaching for her rifle which lay on her bedroll next to her. In the dim, early light of the morning, she recognized Amy's face.

"Rise and shine. You're up." Amy plunked herself down on her own kit, tossed her helmet aside and began to remove her boots.

In the small confines of their two-man tent, Natalie just managed to avoid an elbow to the side as Amy situated herself. Sleepily, she reached for her own boots to put on.

"How was watch?" She kept her voice low.

"Uneventful. I think you're on with Coddington. He was just coming out of his tent as I was going to get you."

"Great."

Amy flopped down onto her bedroll, shimmying into her sleeping bag. She gave her friend a small smile.

"Get out of here and let me catch an hour or two of sleep."

Natalie finished lacing up her boots, slung her weapon over her back, grabbed her helmet and crawled out of the tent. The cool air was a contrast to the warmth of her sleeping bag, and she felt a shudder run through her body.

She rose to her feet, taking a moment to blink off the last bit of drowsiness as she set her helmet on her head and did up the chin strap.

Her company had made camp in a dense forest. To her left, she could just see the top of the next tent through the foliage. Low lying fog lingered in the air. The silence was almost deafening. Everything was cast in a grey hue – the binary suns on this planet had not yet risen above the horizon.

Taking her weapon from her shoulder, Natalie moved quietly through the foliage towards her designated observation post.

It was a semi-sheltered position. A large, fallen tree provided needed coverage from enemy fire. A lot of dead ground – dried, splintered remnants of trees and fallen leaves - lay ahead of their position. This made it difficult for anyone to move through – especially Covenant forces, without giving themselves away.

Sure enough, as she neared, she spotted one male figure, crouched behind the fallen tree. He slowly reached for his rifle, aiming it in her direction.

"Fight," he called out. Recognizing the voice, she realized Amy was right.

"Win." She stepped out of the bushes.

"Morning." Myles relaxed, setting his weapon back against the tree.

"Morning."

She noticed he was crouched over a small compact stove, and had his canteen on it, boiling water.

"I'm assuming you'd like some of the miracle sludge they call ration coffee."

"Yes, please. That'd be wonderful."

"Boiled enough water for two. Should be done in a few minutes." He patted the ground next to him, "Have a seat."

"You're one of the better people to be stuck on OP with." Natalie plunked herself down. Noticing Myles wasn't wearing his helmet, she took hers off. "The last guy was tweaking because he couldn't fucking smoke while at the OP. Bummed me for dip. Never did get anything back in return."  
Myles let out a chuckle.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm bored. This mission is bullshit. I don't think anyone from our platoon has come across even one measly Grunt."

They had been deployed to the colony of Sigma E-928. With a population of just over 5000, it was mainly a mining colony. The planet contained vast amounts of uranium. Aside from sporadic forests clustered around the planet's ocean, most of the terrain was rocky and unforgiving, very reluctant to support much life aside from the odd shrub or two.

A colonial state of emergency had been declared when a couple of weeks prior, a singular Covenant ship had arrived, presumably not to destroy the planet, but to reap its bounty. The majority of the civilian population withdrew to another mining location, but not without casualties.

The UNSC was alerted, and the _Hercules_ just so happened to be one of the closest ships to the system. A fellow frigate, _Odin's Fury_ , had arrived two days prior to the _Hercules._ Once the second wave of troops were deployed, it didn't take long for them to realize that the Covenant forces weren't here to fight. Their cruiser departed within 6 hours of the _Hercules'_ arrival, so quickly in fact that any unfortunate stragglers were abandoned topside. Those stragglers, of course, had to be located and killed.

"I'll take this as an alternative to Slipspace any goddamn day," Myles withdrew two packs of instant coffee and dumped them into his canteen.

"How many months were we in Slipspace? Six?" Natalie asked. Everything had seemed to be a blur following John's departure. She pulled her canteen out of her utility belt and held it out for him to fill.

"Almost five, I think."

"Five, eh," she murmured, cupping her hands around her canteen, enjoying its warmth. Too hot too drink yet, but the smell was comforting. "It feels nice to be in real gravity for a change."

"You got that right."

"How much longer do you think we'll be here?"

"A day or two at the most, I figure. The guys who got here before us did a pretty damn good job of cleaning up."

"Fuck, then I better really enjoy my gravity. And fresh air… And sunlight…"

"You'll have me to enjoy, though."

"I'll add that to my agenda," sarcasm laced her voice. "Put it to the top of the list. Suck Myles' dick…"

Myles laughed.

"It has been a while, you know."

"Last time I checked, I'm not the only person onboard with a vagina. I thought you were having a thing with that Officer Cadet anyway."

"Van der Linden? Eh. When I'm really desperate."

"That's mean to say. She's a pretty girl."

"It's got nothing to do with her looks, personality or even the sex. All of those things are fine. It's just…"

"If you're about to say what I think you're going to say then…"

"What? You've put your life on hold, have you? You're just going to wait forever and hope that your knight in shining green armour is going to come running back to you?"

Myles' words hit her right where it hurt. For the past four months, Natalie had done her best to try to forget John – or at least, diminish her hopes for a reality where she would see him any time soon. Or ever.

She never heard anything from him, but then again, how could she expect to? Who knew where he was or what he was doing, what kind of danger he could find himself in. How many times in the past four months had he narrowly escaped death or serious injury? In the few occasions that she had seen him perform on the battlefield, he seemed oblivious to fear, to self-doubt, and even oblivious of the threat of death itself, looming over him each time that he went up against the Covenant. Each movement, each decision he made, was quickly yet flawlessly calculated, and almost always, perfectly executed. Some called it reckless. Some called it insane. But that's who John was – and up until he met her, it was all he had known.

In comparison, it made her life look like a fucking cake walk.

"Shut the fuck up Myles."

"Well, I don't think you've given anyone so much as a flirtatious glance since he left all those months ago. Myself included. I miss your 'fuck me' eyes."

Natalie heaved a sigh.

"I miss a few minutes ago when we weren't talking about my personal life."

"That's your problem right there. Aside from your little red-headed confidante, I don't think you talk enough about your personal life. Your emotions, your thoughts… do you ever just want to unload?"

"What's to unload that can't be unloaded on a punching bag in the gym? I go there frequently, and you can attest to that. I've matched up my PT schedule with you, Myles, I eat most of my meals with you… I even invite you into our mess for a beer… what more do you fucking want? Aside from the obvious of course. Lately you've been either trying to fuck me or be some strange fatherly support figure - which I do not need, by the way!"

"You'll crack under the pressure," Myles said calmly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"What?"

"You heard me. I can tell just by the way you're reacting that something's eating you up inside. And you'll crack. I just need to keep prodding. I know you better than I think you're willing to admit."

"I'm not going to burst into tears and fall into bed with you."

"I've seen you heading to and from the chapel countless times in the past couple of months. You are atheist as fuck. That alone raises red flags."

"Not everyone goes to the chapel for communion and prayer, dumbass. Have you ever been there? It's peaceful, it's quiet, nobody bugs you… You can watch the stars go by."

"Man, why didn't you say you were into stargazing when we first got together? I bet they'd look some beautiful from atop a mountain in the Bavarian alps."

The Bavarian alps. Natalie recalled lying in bed with John, telling him all about them… how they'd made childish, foolish little plans that some day, when the war was over, she would take him there, that they would hike to the summit of the highest mountain in Germany. She closed her eyes, and tried to picture what that life would look like.

No more war, no more death, no more fear. Just peace. Living a simple, minimalist life in that mountainside villa, just her and John. The air was so fresh, so crisp. The view of the mountains, mostly snow-peaked, even in the summer, spanning as far as the eye could see. She pictured waking up next to John in bed in the mornings. The pot of coffee would already be brewed, the smell wafting into the bedroom from the kitchen downstairs.

Maybe they would have a dog. A shepherd, of some kind. A dog that loved to run freely through the cow fields and up the hills and accompany them on their hikes. Maybe it would come running excitedly in the bedroom each morning to greet them, its silly pink tongue lolling sideways out of its mouth. She imagined John loving the dog, playing with him out in the yard. Smiling. Laughing. His face no longer a constant statue of indifference. Maybe he would forget about shaving, and grow a beard. Would it come in as dark as the rest, or maybe have flecks of red or lighter brown throughout?

 _For Christ's sake, stop it_. A voice in her head chimed in, interrupting her thoughts. A voice of reason, she realized. No sense in dreaming about such a ridiculous future. For a brief second, she felt a moment of embarrassment, then a surge of frustration. Due to this, her voice sounded curt:

"I'm not into stargazing."

Her mind wandered back to her fantasized future with John… the man she barely knew. Why the hell did a life with him seem so appealing? They would have the villa, the mountains, the dog… and maybe children?

Children.

"But you just said…"

"I was fucking pregnant, okay?" Upon saying it, memories flashed through her brain, vivid and frightening as the day they occurred. The morning sickness. The MO's diagnosis. Being awoken from a sound sleep with that horrible pain. All that blood. And last but not least, the unexpected grief and sadness in the days that followed.

Upon hearing this, Myles almost dropped his canteen, but caught it just before it fell. A few hot drops of coffee landed on his fingers, causing him to swear under his breath.

"I was pregnant." She said it again, and was surprised how good it felt. She heaved a deep breath, keeping her eyes down into the depths of her coffee. She could feel Myles' gaze boring into her, and she knew without looking what his expression would be. The more she spoke, the faster the words came. "I was pregnant and I didn't know who the father was. I didn't want to get kicked out of the military, and didn't think it was fair to try to raise a child in a world where a large, powerful alien force is trying to fucking destroy the universe as we know it." A deep breath. "So, I went to the MO and got a medicinally induced abortion. Quite simple, really."

Instantly, she felt lighter – like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It wasn't like her to explode like a popped bottle of champagne, to spill the details on one of the most frightening and loneliest times of her life. And to Myles of all people. But as much as they tended to clash in recent months, they had been together romantically for a while, and friends years before that. He did know her. He knew her well. And he had been right. She'd been letting this gnaw away at her inside for too long.

For a few seconds, Myles was silent. Absorbing her words carefully. Maybe mentally repeating them in his head a couple of times. When she finally looked at him, he looked bewildered, confused, but most of all, concerned.

"When?" The questions started. His voice was low, calm, professional. "Did anyone know? Did you go alone?"

"It was about three months ago. I haven't told a living soul until now."

"Not even Amy?"

"Not even Amy."

That had been a conscious, unwavering decision. Amy would have understood, sure, but her reaction wouldn't have been helpful. She would've made a big deal about it. She would've fussed, she would've doted on her, she would've tried to act as her stand-in mother and just the thought of it made Natalie feel constricted and claustrophobic. Amy had believed her when she had said it was a bit of the flu, and let her be.

"Are you okay?" Myles' voice tore her from her thoughts.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Goddamn it, Nattie. You should've come to me. Whether it was my child or not, I would've supported you in whatever decision you made."

"I don't think you would've."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"So you're telling me, that if you came with me, you wouldn't have wanted to do a DNA test? And if the child was yours, you're telling me that you would've been able to look at the little blob on the scan and in the next breath, agree with me to terminate it? You wanted kids someday. We talked about it years ago."

"And how's that future looking? Pretty fucking grim, if you ask me. So yes, I would've supported your decision. You're an idiot for assuming I wouldn't."

"I'm sorry."

Like always, Myles said:

"Don't be sorry. Just don't do it again."

They finished their watch in silence.


	18. Chapter 18

XVIII

Myles' prediction had been right. Within the next day, the remaining Covenant forces on Sigma E-928 were reported killed and the _Hercules'_ purpose there was complete. _Odin's Fury_ , however, was instructed to remain at the planet for several weeks, to help with civilian casualties, damage clean-up and to ensure that there was a military presence on the planet if the Covenant attempted to return once more.

The _Hercules_ and her crew left the planet without any casualties. Upon their pending dismissal in the docking bay, Myles got 1st Platoon to shuffle around him in a semi circle, oddly informal – it was unlike him to not call drill. He was great at it, and loved to use it whenever he got the chance.

"I have some news for you all that just came down from the Captain. As you might have noticed by the state of our canteen and mess chow, we're getting low on rations and supplies. Normally, we coordinate a ship-to-ship transfer with a supply frigate, however, on our current course, we will arrive at the colony of Reach in approximately 2 hours. Aside from supplies, the _Hercules_ is due for her maintenance check – which means we will be docked on Reach for 48 hours. Captain Thomsen has been so kind as to approve the issue of leave passes for the duration."

His platoon erupted into cheers. Myles smiled, allowing it to linger for a few seconds, before continuing:

"Here are the details. Your leave begins the moment we are docked at the space station and hop on transport to the surface. You are authorized to wear civilian attire, if you desire. Just keep it smart. If you wish to wear your uniform, it will be your standard fatigues. Dress blues are a no go. Today's date, for those of you still in the Slipspace slump, is the 3rd of August, 2535…" A few chuckles arose from his inclusion of the year. "What?" Myles looked confused. "Some of you are fucking idiots." More laughter. "Today is the 3rd of August, 2535. You have until 1800 hours, 5th of August to enjoy yourselves. At 1800 hours, I expect everyone to be back on base, in the docking bay, waiting for transport back to the space station and ready to continue our happy little adventure. Anyone who is late will be charged with AWOL. Are there any questions?"

Carter raised his hand.

"Accommodations, sir?"

"Everyone aside from essential ship's crew has been instructed to leave the ship. No one in my platoon will remain on the _Hercules_ , due to her inspection. Some of the facilities on board will be interrupted. Quarters have been arranged on base, but they are not mandatory. You can go blow 400 credits on a presidential suite at the hotel in the city, if you want. I don't give a fuck as long as you are back at the determined time… which is…"

"1800 hours, 5 August, sir."

"Excellent." Myles took a dramatic pause. His troops all stared at him eagerly. "Return your weapons to the armoury, then you are free."

More cheers erupted, then the troops took off for the armoury. Some broke into a run, making it a competition. Other platoons had been briefed with the same news, and they too, were making the mad dash to get in the queue. Laughter, cursing and cheerful shouts filled the docking bay.

"We're on leave," Amy looked rather stunned. She and Natalie didn't bother with racing to the armouries, merging in with the crowd that began to shuffle out the exit. Amy looked down to her rifle. "This is all that stands between me and leave. Holy fuck."

"I knew it!" Carter announced, looking back to them with a grin. "The cooks were saying last week that they were due for a proper restock."

"I'm getting so fucking drunk," Ellis sighed, rolling his eyes back in relief. "Thank Christ."

"You don't look as happy as I figured, Nat."

Natalie turned to her left and saw Myles had caught up with her.

"To be honest, I'm still in shock," She shook her head. "Never thought we'd get it. What are your plans?"

"I'm getting quarters on base. It'll be good to be off the ship for a while."

"Aw, where is your fun, sir?" Amy chimed in. "Lieutenant's pay can't cover the presidential suite at a hotel off base, eh?"

"Why would I pay for something that's fuckin' free? The officer's quarters here on Reach are pretty decent."

"Rub it in. We'll probably be in four or six man rooms."

"Not my problem that you're NCOs."

"Come on, we aren't staying on base," she scoffed.

"We aren't?" Natalie shot her a look.

"Nattie and I are going to get a room in a hotel. We're going to go out to a club, get drunk as fuck and see how many guys from our platoon start bar fights with the civvies."

"That sounds like a fucking stellar plan," Carter overheard her. "Let's do it."

Amy nodded in agreement, looking back to Myles.

"Our platoon needs our platoon commander," she grinned, batting her lashes.

"Fuck off Smythe." He caught Sergeant Phillips' gaze and fell back to speak with him, muttering lowly: "I'll come along, fuck sakes."

Amy let out a whoop.

"Fuck yes! Hey Carter, Ellis! Hear that? The LT's comin'!"

"Why the fuck did you invite him?" Natalie asked her under her breath. "We'll have less fun with him there, watching our every move. Should've let him have his reclusive 48 hours in his fancy officer's quarters."

"You know Myles is fun as fuck."

Natalie recalled the last time they partied before Myles left for the academy. They got drunk and high and ended up having public sex in the middle of a soccer field under the water sprinklers. A cringe-worthy memory now.

Amy always had preferred marijuana, but it made Myles paranoid and anxious. His alternative was blow. His older brother Scott had always been able to get it for him when they were in high school. Sure, cocaine brought a lot of energy to any party, but still it remained illegal, and every time Myles had used it, he had risked the penalty of being caught.

"He was fun before he received his commission, but I haven't seen him indulge in anything but alcohol and dip since he joined – and that's probably for the better."

"If we get him drunk I'll be happy."

"If he's drunk, please keep him away from me."

"Don't think I've ever heard you say that. Most of the shenanigans from our late teen years stem from you and Myles being an infamous drunken duo. I just usually followed along for the entertainment. I'm going to make a grand prediction and assume the next 48 hours will not be much different."

* * *

Once the _Hercules_ had docked in the resupply space station Anchor 2, orbiting Reach, Pelicans transported troops to Reach FLEETCOM Military Complex, home to the renowned Reach Naval Academy. From there, the Marines were set free on their leave, and there was a mad dash to locate a taxi company from the commissionaires working in base accommodations.

Three vans arrived on base to cart the majority of 1st Platoon to the nearest hotel in New Alexandria. While the city itself was huge, the northern outskirts catered largely to the military presence, seeing the growth of several bars and clubs, restaurants, hotels and casinos. Many active duty personnel spent their leave on Reach, and the city wanted to make sure everything that exhausted troops needed lay within the radius of a 20 credit taxi ride.

The clerks at the front desk of hotel Luxor New Alexandria didn't seem the least surprised to see a rag-tag bunch of jarheads migrating into the bright, lavishly decorated lobby with duffel bags and day packs, half of them in uniform, the other in civvies. 1st Platoon stuck out against the backdrop of leather furniture, carved wood panelling, marble flooring and extravagantly large glass chandeliers. Despite the number of guests, it didn't take them long to process the two dozen credit cards, IDs and damage deposits.

"I feel like someone transported me back in time to the 20th century," Carter remarked under his breath, staring around at the lobby.

"Go to Europe," Natalie spoke up, shifting her duffle bag to her other hand. She hadn't bothered to change out of her uniform. "This ain't shit."

Myles heard her, smirking in agreement.

"We've got a couple floors set aside for military personnel," the thin, spectacled blonde with the name tag reading "Janel" explained when Natalie was booking her stay. Amy had loudly inquired the possibility of having adjoining rooms. "The manager finds it's easier to put you all together."

"Organized chaos, eh?" Carter piped up, and a flood of laughter filled the lobby.

Janel smiled politely, shrugging.

"Never a dull moment when we've got Marines in house." She swiped Natalie's room card, activating it, and handed it to her with an even larger smile. "Room 1070. Enjoy your leave."

* * *

John had just gotten back from a morning of training with Blue Team. He and Kelly had spent a bit of time working on their hand-to-hand combat. Frederic ran them through some knife defense practice. Afterward, Linda insisted they all go to the range for an hour – where she proudly outshot them all from 1000 yards. The Spartans always loved friendly competition, and were happier than hell when they got to perform in the areas in which they mastered.

Their last couple of missions had been quick and simple, with no casualities and 100% success rate. The Spartans liked challenges, and their edginess to be challenged showed during their training. They wanted something big, complex. Dangerous. When that would happen, though, was always uncertain. Could be tomorrow, could be next month.

Dr. Halsey caught John on his way back to his room.

"John. I've got some news for you," She said quietly, watching as Linda and Fred walked into their respective rooms down the hall, giving her a subtle look of curiosity before shutting the doors behind them.

John looked to her expectantly, knowing as leader of Blue Team, any missions would be passed onto him first.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I saw the Captain of the _Hercules_ on base today _._ He approached me to thank me for your assistance some months ago. I found out that his ship is docked for resupply and maintenance at one of the space stations orbiting the planet. He's given the marines 48 hours of leave to go topside."

John realized what she was saying to him. Natalie. She could be here on Reach. He could possibly see her – something which, over the past few months, he had convinced himself would never happen again. Had she done the same? _Would she even want to see me?_ He wondered, remembering how quickly they'd parted. _How would she react if I found her, showed up at her door?_ _She has no idea I'm here, so she wouldn't be expecting me._

"You're resourceful." Halsey continued, snapping John out of his thoughts. She gave him a quick smile. "Do with this information as you will. I just wanted to make sure you knew."

He gave her a nod.

"Thank you, ma'am."

* * *

Natalie walked into her hotel room, and found herself surprised by the size – it had to be at least 200 square feet: more personal space than she'd had since she'd joined the Corps, she realized. There was a king-sized bed, adorned with a down comforter and multiple pillows, a holographic television, mini fridge, writing desk, chair and an armoire. A large window that spanned nearly the entire dimensions of the furthest wall let in a flood of light and provided a stunning view of the city below.

Letting out a pleasurable sigh, she dropped her bags at her feet, the door quietly clicking shut behind her. She took a step into the bathroom and found the light switch. There was both a shower _and_ a jacuzzi - neither one of which would shut off after five minutes to conserve water.

"Oh fucking yes," She whispered.

First thing was first.

She showered for what seemed like a half hour. Shampooed her hair twice just because she had the time. It was wonderful. After the shower, she went straight to the jacuzzi, and laid there until the steam, warmth and the sound of the bubbling water began to make her drowsy. Her eyelids were fluttering shut when she heard someone knock on her door. She shot up, startled, splashing water over the edges of the tub. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

"In the bath! Fuck off!" She shouted, her voice echoing even louder thanks to the bathroom acoustics. Suddenly the idea of interacting with another human being seemed very appalling. She could happily stay here for the rest of the evening, she realized. Had she been that deprived for her own space?

With a sigh, she pulled the plug on the drain – trying to listen over the sound of the gurgling water for any further knocks or comments. Nothing.

She wrapped her hair in a towel, tossed on her bathrobe and marched to the mini fridge. Sure enough, it was stocked with half a dozen little alcohol bottles. She grabbed the two whisky, which she happily drank while she was drying her hair.

The large cosmetic lights around the bathroom mirror illuminated her face in a way she wasn't used to seeing: her skin looked especially pale due to the lack of sunlight, with dark bags under her eyes. She touched her face, poking at her cheekbones that had become more pronounced than she'd cared to note before. Losing her baby fat, she guessed. She'd only been 18 when she enrolled.

She rooted in her duffle bag, quickly pulling out the outfit she chosen for tonight's adventure to the bars: a red, sleeveless, scoop-necked blouse and black leggings. For shoes, she had the heels she was issued with her dress blues – the only fancier pair she had aside from shower sandals, combat boots and running shoes.

It felt weird to put the outfit on; it was so close-fitting compared to what she was used to. The blouse gave a subtle nod to her cleavage, and the heels gave her extra height and accentuated her calves. She took a couple of wobbly steps, not having much practice with heels.

"Why do I bother with these cocksuckers?" she muttered to herself.

She threw her hair into a high ponytail and put on her pearl earrings she used when she was in dress uniform. Then, she ventured into her rarely used makeup bag. Mascara, a dusting of eye shadow. Some blush to get rid of her pallor. Finally, she applied a light coat of red lipstick – which so far had only been used once for a mess function.

"Jesus Christ," she murmured, making a face at herself in the mirror. It felt alien to wear makeup. "I look like a fucking hooker."

Outside her door, she heard muffled laughter.

"Who's fucking there?!"

"Myles."

She heaved a sigh and went to the door. Opening it, she saw Myles, dressed in civilian clothing – a blue dress shirt and jeans. He had the silliest grin on his face.

"I'm sorry, I was just about to knock and then I heard you from inside…" He bit his lip, failing to hold back a snort. He looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing with approval. He nodded. "You are… a very beautiful hooker."

"I fucking hate you. What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

"Depends. Are you going to pay me?"

"In a sense… I've got something special for us."

Natalie raised a quizzical brow, leaning on the door frame.

"What is it?"

"You'll have to let me in first."

She let him wait a few hesitant seconds, before stepping back out of his way, gesturing for him to follow her inside.

Once the door closed behind them, Myles reached into his breast pocket, and withdrew a small dime bag with a mischievous grin. Natalie immediately recognized the white powder within.

"Cocaine, Myles? Really?" She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper.

"It's a special occasion."

"We haven't even been topside for an hour. How the _fuck_ did you get that?"

"Connections…" He walked over to her desk. He ripped a sheet of paper from a notepad, rolling it into a tight little tube. "Don't forget that I graduated from the academy here."

"It's a little early for this, wouldn't you say?" She watched him as he poured some blow onto the table, scraping it into two little neat lines with the room card.

"Its 1930. Plus, I can smell whisky off your breath, sweetheart."

"Alcohol isn't illegal."

"Should be, for you." He gave her a knowing look. He held the improvised paper straw out to her. "For old time's sake. Come on."

She hesitated for only a second. _Fuck it_. She snorted her line, then Myles did his. She watched him intently, smirking at the fact that deep down, he was still a party animal. Amy had been right after all.

Sniffling, Myles wiped at his nose and gave his head a shake.

"Fuck, that's some good shit. We'll save the rest for later." He tucked the remnants back into his pocket.

Natalie nodded, tasting the bitter drip of liquefied cocaine seeping down the back of her throat from her sinuses. Wouldn't be long until the two of them felt like bouncing off the walls.

"I told Amy we'd meet her upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"Carter and a couple other guys actually got the fucking presidential suite. Top floor, panorama view of the city, apparently. Crazy fuckers. That's where the pre-drinking will take place. Clean out that mini fridge and let's go."

Any sleepiness that had been brewing was instantly gone. Natalie felt awake, alert, and ready to go. She rushed to the fridge, grabbing the mini bottles.

"I can't get drunk off this fucking shit!" She laughed.

"There's more where that came from… the boys did a liquor run. Hang on, you've got a little powder on your nose," Myles gently grabbed her arm. "Stay still." He pulled her closer, licked his thumb and wiped it off. She flinched upon his touch, but started giggling.

"My nose is ticklish."

"You're fucking high already." He grinned.

"Yes, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Myles brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. His fingers on her skin felt electrifying. "For the record, you don't look like a hooker."

"No?"

"You look fucking sexy, though." She felt his hand circle her waist, pulling her against him. She could feel his breath tickling her ear. "I'd fuck you against that window right now, let everyone in the whole city watch."

She let out a laugh, shaking her head.

"No."

"Old times sake, Nattie…"

 _What do you have to lose_? A voice in her head piped up. _We could all be fucking dead next week._ She looked down to the liquor bottles in her hand. Unscrewing the top of one, she tipped her head back and poured the contents down her throat. She tossed it aside, then grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

He picked her up easily, walked her over to the window sill, and plunked her down.

"This doesn't mean shit," She whispered against his lips. Before she knew it, her leggings were around her ankles. One shoe clattered loudly to the floor. The jingling of Myles' belt buckle seemed awfully loud. She could feel him, hard against her inner thigh.

"Sure it does." His hand encircled the throat gently, her head thumping against the glass as he held her in place. "You still want me."

She smiled, euphoria overwhelming her. An unfamiliar sounding laugh filled the air, and it took her a second to realize it was her own. Fuck. She felt amazing.

"Don't break this window, whatever you do."


	19. Chapter 19

**XIX**

Amy marched down the hotel hallway, scanning the doors for room numbers. Finding Natalie's, she knocked impatiently with three quick raps.

"Hey! Nat!"

She gave it a few seconds, then opened the door.

At the far end of the room, Natalie and Myles were tangled together on the window sill, half undressed, pants around their knees. One of Natalie's shoes was strewn a couple of feet away.

"What the _fuck_ , you guys!"

"Amy!" Natalie snapped out of her haze. Had Amy knocked? She hadn't even noticed her come into the room. Quickly, she shoved Myles off her, frantically pulling up her leggings. "Fuck…"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Amy, give us a second to open the fucking door before barging in!" Myles yelled at her over his shoulder, quickly doing up his pants.

"Well I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd still fucking be here."

"I told you I was going to get her!"

"Mhmm. You got her, alright." Amy folded her arms on her chest. She met Natalie's eyes, shaking her head. "Singing a different tune, now, are we? 'Keep him away from me,' you said! Hate to break it to you sweetheart but sitting on his dick is quite the opposite."

Myles sighed irritably.

"Are you fucking done?" He snapped.

Amy took a few steps toward him, staring at his eyes.

"You're fucking high, aren't you?" She observed, then turned to Natalie, who immediately averted her gaze. "You too! Fuck sakes. Can't leave you two alone, either you wind up drunk, high, fighting or fucking, or all of the above." She eyed an empty bottle of liquor on the carpet. "You are both the most self-destructive train wrecks I have ever met. I just have a short temper and a good right hook. And where's my fucking promotion? Should get one for just having to put up with you both!"

Natalie grabbed a little bottle of vodka sitting on the desk, and held it out to Amy.

"You're sober," she declared knowingly. "Drink up. You'll be loving us in no time."

Amy stared at the bottle for a few seconds, before swiping it from her hand.

"Bitch, you know me too well."

* * *

John walked into the lobby of the Luxor New Alexandria. Immediately, his eyes were drawn upward to the grand expanse of the room, the glittering chandeliers and polished wood panelling. He didn't recall ever seeing a place so fancy – it made him feel immediately out of place – especially in combat fatigues.

"Sir!"

John turned, and saw a friendly looking girl standing behind the front desk. Upon making eye contact, she continued:

"May I help you?"

"Yes." John approached the desk. "I understand there are several Marines staying here. I'm looking for one in particular, Lance Corporal Natalie Klein…"

"I'm sorry, sir, are you military police?"  
"No."

"Well I regret to inform you it is against hotel policy to give out any information about our guests. I can't even confirm her staying here."

John's expression darkened. He eyed the girl's nametag. Janel. Upon telling him this, she looked like she expected him to turn and leave, however he remained there, scanning the lobby for anyone familiar.

"Sir," she spoke again. "You are welcome to sit here in the lobby to wait, see if she comes by."

John gave a nod.

"Thank you."

"Oh, and sir?"

"Not sure if this helps, but I saw a large group of them leave about an hour ago. They got me to call them a taxi to the club, not too far from here. You could try there. It's called _The Spent Casing_."

John paused from going to sit in the nearest chair, approaching the desk again with interest.

"Several blocks south," She continued, pulling out a tourist map. Unfolding it, she circled the hotel. "We're here…" she drew an arrow. "That's _The Spent Casing_ , here. One of the most popular clubs… the troops love it."

John memorized the map in a split second.

"Thank you." He headed for the door.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call you a taxi?" She called after him. "You're looking at a good twenty minute walk!"

John stepped out into the night. If he ran, he could get there in five.

* * *

 _The Spent Casing_ was anything but an appealing environment for John. From the street, it was a windowless brick building, the only entrance were red double doors. The club sign was posted above them. One of the said doors was open. Several crowds of people clustered around outside, clouds of cigarette smoke wafting around them, their voices cheerful and boisterous, echoing down the street.

From within, John could hear incredibly loud music, and saw bright lights flashing, illuminating the bouncer that stood in the doorway. John merged into the queue for the door. Several people gave him curious looks, for he stood easily a head taller than everyone else, and hadn't bothered to wear civilian clothing.

When he reached the bouncer, the burly man had to lift his chin to meet his eyes.

"Christ, you must be a Helljumper," He remarked. "You may be big, but me and my guys can have you out here on your ass if you start punching people out."

John had to fight the urge to smirk. If only he knew.

"Won't be a problem."

"Better not be!"

And then, he was inside. He walked down a dimly lit hall, before emerging into the main room – which was an assault on all senses. Bright strobe lights flickered and flashed. Music thumped so loud he could feel the bass in his chest. Smoke of some kind filled the air, making the atmosphere hazy. The place was crowded and warm, filled with the scents of spilled alcohol and human sweat.

The bar stretched all along the left side of the room. Several tables and chairs were at the back, but the majority of the space was open for dancing. The flickering lights made it hard to see faces – a lot of the time they were dark silhouettes, illuminated in periodic milliseconds by an unnatural, bright colour.

John slowly began to weave his way through the crowd, scanning for faces. His height helped with that. A large screaming group of people were clustered around a raised platform. On this platform, there was a singular pole, and it seemed like various people were taking their turns dancing on it.

In the dim lighting, John spotted a cluster of people with buzzed hair cuts, tattoos and physically fit figures. He'd found the Marines. Before he could spot anyone familiar, he watched three figures crawl up onto the platform – and recognized them immediately.

Natalie, Amy, and Myles – all dressed in civilian clothing, drinks in their hands. He focused on Natalie. Her face was flushed, her eyes appeared almost drowsy, a permanent smile lit up her face. He'd seen it before. She was drunk.

He watched as she leaned her head on Myles' shoulder, wrapping her arm around him for support. She and Myles hadn't been on good terms when he had left the _Hercules_. Clearly, something had changed. John felt an undeniable twinge of irritation, and it surprised him. Here it was again, this one woman making him feel emotions that, usually, he was able to supress – or not even feel at all. Now, he'd simply laid eyes on her, and his control was slipping through his fingers.

Natalie raised her bottle of beer. The Marines clustered around her erupted into cheers. She raised the bottle to her lips, threw her head back and began to chug. The Marines started to sing:

 _Oh why was she born so beautiful?_

 _Oh why was she born at all?_

 _She's no fucking good to anyone,_

 _She's no fucking good at all!_

 _Sooo… drink motherfucker!_

 _Drink motherfucker, drink!_

 _Drink motherfucker!_

 _Drink, motherfucker, drink!_

 _Oh why are we waiting?_

 _She must be masturbating!_

 _Oh why are we waiting?_

 _Oh why, why, why…._

Natalie finished the bottle, and held it up to an array of more cheering. Myles laughed, and pulled her into a hug, looking proud. She leaned in to say something to him. He nodded, and she ducked unsteadily out of his arms, and got down from the platform, accepting assistance from those around her.

John watched as she pushed her way through the crowd, heading for the exit, moving quickly. Her steps were uncoordinated and shaky. He looked back to the Marines. None of them were following her.

This was his chance.

She was already outside when he finally got his way through the sea of bodies and made it to the door. John watched her as she walked down the sidewalk, away from the club, her hand clamped over her mouth. Finally, she stumbled to the side, catching herself on the wall, and proceeded to be sick.

John waited for her to be done, listening to the terrible sounds of her retching. Finally, she shakily wiped her mouth. She turned and took a couple wobbly steps away from her mess, before sliding down the wall and landing on the sidewalk. With an exasperated sigh, she let her head fall against her knees.

He approached quietly, stopping a foot away from her.

"Natalie."

She raised her head slowly, her eyes meeting his. Immediately, surprise and bewilderment sprang onto her features.

"John?" Her voice was slurred. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you," He crouched next to her, reaching out and grabbing her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was then he realized how much he'd missed her.

She squeezed his hand back.

"I'm fucked up." She leaned her head back against the wall. Her eyelids fluttered. "So fucked up."

"I can tell."

At this, she let out a little laugh.

"Natalie!"

John looked over his shoulder, and saw Myles emerging from the club, with Amy and several other Marines in tow. Upon recognizing John, a strange smile came to Myles' face. John rose to his feet.

"Look who it is!" Myles exclaimed. "Our hero has returned! After so long! Man, didn't expect that – you left us all without saying goodbye last time! Didn't think I'd ever see you again."

John narrowed his eyes. The Lieutenant was clearly intoxicated. His eyes were bloodshot, eyelids heavy, his words were slightly slurred together.

"Myles," Natalie staggered to her feet, "Just…"

"Funny, I don't remember inviting you here! Do you guys remember inviting him?" He looked back to Amy, Carter, Ellis and Desjardins. They remained silent – tension visible on their faces. Myles turned back to John. "Take the hint. Natalie's fine. We don't need your help. You can go now."

"Myles, stop it." Natalie spoke up.

"Oh, this was your plan all along, was it?"

"What the fuck are you on about!?"

"Why is he here?"

"I didn't even know…"

"Did you ask him to come here? Are you going to try to fuck him too?"

"Myles, shut your drunk mouth and stop being a cunt," Amy snapped.

"What if I don't? Are you going to punch me again?"

"I'm fucking about to!" Natalie exploded, taking a step between him and John. "You're such a fucking asshole! Why the fuck do I even put up with you!?"

"Put up with me?! You're a fucking chronic pain in my ass!"

And the two unloaded on each other, roaring profanities. John tensed, ready to spring in between them. For now, nothing was physical. He looked past them to Amy, who stood observing the scene with her arms folded, her expression nonchalant. It was the face of someone who had seen this many times before. She met his gaze, shaking her head as if to say: 'don't worry'. She glanced back to the club entrance, where people waiting in the line had all turned to watch the ongoing scene.

"You're a fucking miserable son of a whore!"

"You're a fucking two-faced bitch!"

With that, Natalie shoved Myles backwards. He stumbled, but caught himself, and went back right in her face.

"Don't fucking shove me!"

Amy shot forward, grabbing Natalie and pulling her away from Myles.

"Fuck off Amy, we aren't finished!" Myles reached for Natalie's wrist, but before he could touch her, John's hand was on his shoulder.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Myles turned on John, and with it, had his fist balled. He swung at him, putting his whole weight into it. With one step to the side, John dodged the blow. He grabbed Myles' wrist with his right hand, pulling the arm back. In the same movement, he slammed his open palm of his left hand onto his elbow and pushed inward. The scream that Myles made seemed to echo, the pain bringing him to his knees.

"Let go, let go, let go!" He started pleading.

John held him there for several more seconds to prove a point. Finally, he released him, and Myles collapsed into a pathetic ball on the pavement, clutching his arm.

"Fuck! I'm going to have you fucking charged for this!"

"Try it." John didn't sound the least bit threatened. He looked to Amy, yet said it loud enough for all near to hear. "Take care of him. I don't care if you stay here and keep drinking or take him back to the hotel, as long as he's out of my face."

There was a certain maliciousness in John's voice that everyone noticed. Amy seemed rather rattled by it – nodding quickly. Carter and the others were already helping Myles to his feet.

"Fuck you, Spartan!" Myles shouted.

This was followed by hushed murmurs from the Marines to shut him up.

"Come on, sir. We'll buy you a drink."

"Beers are waiting inside."

They veered him down the sidewalk, back towards the entrance of the club. Amy noticed John's gaze locked on Myles until he disappeared back inside the building.

"Well," Amy declared, "This night has been full of surprises." She let her gaze fall on Natalie. She leaned against the wall, her eyelids heavy, face still lacking most of its colour.

"No fucking shit," she murmured.

"Lieutenant Coddington's behavior really didn't surprise," John spoke up.

"No. Didn't need a crystal ball to see that coming. I mostly mean you appearing out of the blue. It's good to see you, sir. I didn't think we'd have the honor to do so. Natalie needs you."

Natalie rolled her eyes.

"I don't _need_ anyone."

"Hun, have you looked at yourself?" Amy raised a brow. "Master Chief, sir, as the sober one of the bunch, you'll be an excellent escort to make sure Natalie gets back to the hotel safely. I, however, am going back inside to keep drinking. I'd invite you both, but… probably for the best if you give Myles a wide berth for the rest of the night."

"Yeah," Natalie agreed. "After all that… I'm tired and drunk and just…"

"We know. Get going." Amy gave her a quick hug. She whispered in her ear: "Keep me posted, okay?"

"Always."

"Don't dwell on tonight. Everyone's fifty shades of fucked. Tomorrow's a new day." Amy turned and headed back towards the club. She gave them a wave. "Talk later."

John turned to Natalie. He held out his hand for her to take.

"Let's go."

* * *

Back at the hotel, first thing John did when they arrived at Natalie's room was sit her down on the bed and get her a glass of water.

"Drink it."

He watched her as she took a few gulps, before setting the glass aside on the bedside table. She met his eyes, shaking her head ever so slowly.

"You're really here."

"Yes."

"I'd almost accepted the fact I would never see you again. How did you find out I was here?"

"I've been here on Reach for quite some time. I found out your ship had been docked for resupply."

"And here you are."

"You weren't very hard to find." John sat down next to her, so they were almost at eye-level. Nothing about his appearance had changed in the last few months. No new scars – at least that Natalie could see. Something about his expression softened, his usually stoic exterior melting away.

"I want to apologize for leaving you so suddenly," he said.

"I understand. It's part of the job. Besides, we can't expect you to win this war from my bed, now, can we?" She raised a brow. She reached out to the glass of water, tracing her finger in circles around the rim. "If anything, it is me who should be apologizing. You come to find me, and I'm shitfaced and puking on the street. I'm a mess."

"You're on leave. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"No, it's been going on longer than that. I have been a bitter, sarcastic, alcoholic mess ever since you left."

"Why?" It was a genuine question.

Natalie met his eyes, and for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

"What do you think?" She finally croaked out. "There's something different about you. In the short time we were together onboard the _Hercules_ , I developed this connection with you that I didn't think could exist."

"Yes. But now, it seems that you and Myles…"

"Hate each other more than ever?" Natalie cut him off. "That'd be correct. Myles and I will never change, no matter what we do. We're toxic for one another. We should've stayed just friends – and maybe tonight I wouldn't have been screaming in his face."

"Yet, he cares."

"When it suits him to."

"That whole display tonight was because I was with you. He sees me as a threat – but I'm used to that."

"I almost slept with him earlier tonight." Natalie declared. "Amy came in before anything became too serious. I would have regretted it anyhow, but if I'd gone through with it… Now that you're here… I would feel terrible."

"You said yourself, you didn't know if you'd see me again. I didn't know if I'd see you again. I didn't expect you to stop living in my absence. You're stronger than that."

At this, Natalie smiled.

"Do you believe in fate?"

"I believe in luck, if that counts."

"Luck," Natalie looked thoughtful. "I'd say I do too. Was it luck, would you say, that you happened to find me? Or was it truly meant to be?"

John shrugged, a small smile appearing on his lips.

"I'm not much of a philosopher."

Natalie laughed.

"You're witty, though. I like that. Is that part of your training?"

"No. Just a personality quirk that slipped through the cracks."

"Good – don't change a thing about it." She let her head fall against his shoulder. "I'm so happy now that you're here. I thought of you every day, you know. Worried about you every day, too. For some reason, not knowing where you were or what you were doing tore me up inside. Which is an awfully pathetic thing to admit, for this is part of the lifestyle. We never know if the next time we see someone could be the last. Yet, here I was, going nearly mad without you, attempting to drown my emotions in alcohol - to wash it all away. I think I went through a period of denial, a period where I tried to convince myself that I had no idea why I was feeling the way I was. But I knew. I've known all along. It's…"

"Love, isn't it?" John's reply surprised her.

She froze, feeling her heart beginning to pound. She let the silence tick on for a few tantalizing seconds before answering him.

"Yes."

She stayed there, her head on his shoulder, gaze fixated on the carpet. He didn't move, didn't speak, not for several seconds. Her pulse pumped wildly in her ears.

"Stand up," he finally said quietly.

Slowly, she did, turning to face him. She watched his gaze slowly travel up her body, before their eyes locked. He didn't move to stand. As they were, she was a couple inches taller than him. It felt odd for her to look down on him.

"Come here." He gestured.

She did. His hands encircled her waist, pulling her onto his lap. Their lips met, softly at first, but giving away in seconds to three pent-up months of raw, unbridled passion. Natalie felt all her worries and inhibitions fading away with each kiss, each touch, her stress being shed just as quickly as her clothes.

For the first time since they had been apart, they felt truly alive again.

And in this war, such thing was a luxury.


End file.
